Monday Confession

It will be several days of confession.
I have starved myself.
I have been hard and violent.

Each doctor takes note, takes opinion,
takes my blood and stirs
it in his coffee.

It’s Monday. 9:30 A.M.
The sterile tile has been examined,
the hard carpet, despised!
I twist dismay into the carpet fiber
with one foot,
the other taps out
awkward silence.

Sunday was a long day of struggle.
I ate out of the palm of a man,
tugged at his whiskers and
kissed him.
He had a candlestick, long like a lady,
using its light to sort me out.
I had only borrowed trust,
I had to protect myself.

He became a smoky tantrum,
a raging death match forcing truth
out of my swollen mouth.
It was a Sunday of ruin.

Confession came, thick bees swarming
my tongue,
a blur of black and yellow before
I fell hard out of life.
I woke up to this Monday, a dream,
a foggy span of blasting conscience .

And this is just the start.

Miss Red Jacket Digs

Miss Red Jacket
layered
red threaded
protected

found four chances
dug them
out of the sand
distinct
diamonds

four different
slants
similar

polar opposites
yet
parallel

four unique prints
inked
on
black and white

printed
nearly tattoo’d

she chooses a rock
dug out of the dirt
in
needle park

veined purple
swallow’s grandma’s stew
grandma’s eyes
grandpa’s semen
anything
for black tar
fire spoons
and
a blanket in Needle Park

Miss Red Jacket
misses
firm
athletic
blood tubes
that act as an overcoat
laying
over layers

Horse pipes have
wrapped her
soft  spot
for
the last of
their life time

he
with blood tubes
plucked
from dirt
in needle park

a diamond
uncleaned
uncut
melting banknotes
wages

melting mud
puddles in
metal necks

skinny little pricks
sucking
mud puddles dry

pushing
pushing destruction
deep
into her
thick red
shield

pushing
pushing red threads
to distress

unthreading
unravelling

leaving
a naked woman
with nothing
but a
dirty
rock

The Loose Hurricane

That fool of a Hurricane came along
wearing her precious
golden wig

her bitch stamp

tempestuous temptress
twirling
spinning
violence through
internal bricks and boards

I am a carpenter
a blood sculptor
The Queen

my masterpiece
in matching
patterns
nailed to the walls

my precious dynasty
garnished with
parallel features
inside and
out

muscles and brawn
My King
mixed with this
destructive
maniacal
windstorm

she rushed him
in her
giant waves

into her vast Ocean
her wet white body

then ripped and yanked
at my prized
creation
jerking
wrenching
until defeat ambushed
her
from behind

she resigned

and I was left
with my masterpiece
to clear the clutter
the debris

watching the Ocean for the
return of
my King.

 

 

Jesus’ Fish Hooks

Dead center
hanging
dangling from fish-hooks
Jesus has pierced
through each armpit

peeled

every day is
discriminating

a fruitful woman faces me
“those hips couldn’t possibly bear children”

an eager man braces my  backside
rests on me
cheek to cheek

men and women
all varieties
surround my languished
flaw

each taking turn
weapon of choice in
claw

seeking destruction

secretly wishing Jesus
had
chosen them.

Cyclone

Cryptic House of Knowledge,

I stroll,
I shift around your
halls – the deep and starving
space – hungry for
ambiguity and definition!

Where is the edible material hidden?
Do you have a frozen room
where you store it for keep?

Not frantic, but fixed!!
I want!
I need!
I am fierce on my knees….
I beg

Give me what I seek!!!

A deep rumbling vibration rips through the floor, knocking me from
my roots. I hear my bones crunch and snap as I hit
the concrete.
The House answers. It is evident. Strong.
The rumbling becomes deeper. It is here!

I roll against a wall, for
a seeker has no haven.
The building ripples and rips,
the walls shred
and crumble around me.

I am still.

I watch as a cyclone tears down the
structure that protects me, ripping through cement
and stone
destroying all that I had known.
The outside light came pouring in and
I am exposed!!

The cyclone stopped in its spot,
turned, it found me.
My frightened frame could do nothing.
The heart could not beat.
The lungs could not breathe.
My body and I just sat in fear….

The twisting tornado did not move
from its place, but
targeted my eyes,
smiled

and I understood!