Where Dead Mice Sleep

Bring your church to the key – back rooms –
chimney sweep – flushed with soot –
black like cats – deep in Winter sleep.

Bring your arm to my ball – and chain
me up – downstairs – I
am a slave

to black waves of adultery –
and let’s not leave out the China, please? – In
the hutch, where dead mice sleep.

Take me to your temple – here, now go
to sleep – shackled to me –
wrapped in spite –
or luxury.

I won’t drop or swallow – your metal is safe
against my chest – One of us
is naked on the inside –

Christ would like how we make it here –
every Winter –
while the cats let the mice sleep.

Like I Am

I did not touch yesterday, like I say I did.
My fingerprints are missing.
I lost them on a glass man,
wrapped my hands around

his whiskey sour, like I shouldn’t have.
He mingled with fire over
victory, like a beast gnawing
on my shoulder

I looked over his shadow like I owned him,
but daylight quickly ended, now
here I am. Fingertips dripping
off frozen glass,

as miserable as I planned it,
and here I still sit,

alone and empty-handed.

The Boy By The Pond

I found him by a pond,  he was  fishing for
gold. I had  no interest in
his endeavor, just his pretty smile.
He told me later that he
did pluck his treasure
that day,  hidden deep within the water.

 When I asked him what  it was, he only
smiled and laughed,  then took my
hand, kissed  my cheek
and took me for a walk.
We traveled up and up for what seemed  like
forever.  Climbing jagged rocks
through a blizzard,  the wind screaming at  me
to ascend no further.

 The sharp boulders sliced open  my knees,
threatening my balance,  my insides
started to freeze…I stopped in my spot, slid my
hand out of his.
I warned him that he was climbing to high;
he must stop! But he trudged on; claiming that
he could reach the top
and told me just to watch him!

 I knew what was coming, it was too much to
bear, so I turned my cold back on him
as he kept climbing, I began my descent
without him.
Two  days later, they found him dead.
Swollen like  a twisted ankle, as purple as a bruise.

 It’s been some time now, since I climbed
down that mountain
but my insides are still un-thawing.