My Mad Voyage

Were you, yourself, a stranger with no clear account of his dying?
An accident crowned that day.
A ticket arrived, golden and hollow,
at his bedside. 

He laughed.
He board a ship in the morning
that carried no heartbeat
or skin.

I think this is all we talk about.
A mad voyage where listeners were
not, until now.

And were we strange to his fable, with his legs up on the couch?
I should say to him, I am not.
There are two bodies I know,
inside and out.
I fasten their heads together in knots around my chest

on my own mad voyage that carries no heart,
or beat,
or spirit
that is strange to his hand on my shoulder, softly at rest from the world.

On The Day

Oh young, on the day she turns
over a new leaf, sun-damaged
veins, shrivelled death

six-feet to go, to sleep,
to walk in to
her dreams, flat-lined
sex, drawn out of virgin
delirium

strawberry fields in
fast decay, on the day
she turns, sixteen
nights after the drunken man
is fast asleep

on the edge,
on metal terror
pumping through her
veins

this is the one,
the hidden light,
night fury flies past her eyes

everything is tight
blood crushes blood, through
life-less young eye lids
she cries, he’s too fast,

a shrivelled raisin on black top
oh young, that night, and what it means,
the night takes, the air
rips

open, stealing her lungs on the day
she turns.

In God We Trust

I’ve been digging through past lives for
months, searching
for fingerprints
in five feet, eleven inches of

deceit dust covering everything
I know! How many times did he shed his skin
back here?  Dead parasites are proof!

He was on the roof when it caved.
Climbed  over four hundred days
with water and
a bible.

He left spoons and mattress burns below him,
tribe familiars blossomed following his climb,
extending gratitude,
tribute!

And he climbed, praising God, until he reached
Grace,
humble resiliency…

We sang!
We cried and we sang!
We wrapped our hugs in packages with golden bows,
throwing them to a skeptical world! We danced, twirled
through moon phases, a
fantastic celebration!

Then, a sharp raucous!
Brusque thunder crushing eardrums!

Blood poured from our ears
as the noise devastated. Bible pages
fell like confetti over
our joy; a tearful,
thick pollution!

We cried!
We fell and we cried!
We wrapped our memories in boxes with golden locks,
sealing them, our treasures. Silently, we
remembered, our Requiem,
a tribute!

All we know is that he climbed,

and that underneath five feet, eleven
inches of his dust, it is

in God that we place our
rusted
trust.

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