The mistake on the lake

The whispers of bulrushes

Part and clear away

A pathetic trail along the Erie fringes

To back doors hanging on hinges

Invitations of an urban decay

When the meat is still fresh

Only portions under gravity

Show dependency,

the divinity of flesh

Bluish purple acidity

Blood lost to lividity

Clasping for warmth in rigid livor

In the shadow of a lake

long forgot like shivers spooling

Dreams lost to years of algor cooling

The smell of ammonia our factories make

Like little box homes. Microwaves. Mistakes.

Organisms move rhythmic pulsing beasts

Autolysis. Aerobics. A chance to feast

She looks up at the synthetic lights

Grey clouds a mass of hungry blowflies

Oviposition her promised promotion

In the putrefaction

of stage 1 decomposition

Through the eyes of the storm

I just drive. I’ll just ride

You want me to get high

To get low like the alone

Rigor Mortis to atone

A snobby sort of snort

Millions of shattered pieces of glass
Dehydrated flakes of fish guts and ass
Whale shit and cremated Nemo
It’s where you dig your tea party toes

Millions of dead pindaroma residents
Chemicals for paper ex-presidents

Dead hookers who begged to just be let go
It’s still what you choose to blow up your nose

Millions of bloody stones in rivers
Child slaves sex mothers Indian givers
Over sourced egos baby death slingers
It’s what you slipped on her finger

Another costume party tonight
She’s all dressed for it, in white


Sometimes there’s an absence of insanity

a quite time a pause in all our
pulsating humanity

Like a missing tooth
Something new
The mind becomes a tongue confused
with nothing else to do
Don’t forget the surrounding dudes
their ability to chew

You poke and probe and post and tweet
Ignoring other pieces of meat
Stuck between remaining teeth
And turn the other cheek

But the dentist will make you insane again
Don’t worry lads
You know the the end
Of a sustantivos poem is

Look again


A broken bat, a shattered ankle
A Lansdowne blood out cut from the gang
Behind the banner the stars are spangled
alone and mortal no future to hang

In the movies the parting steam reveals
Manhole covers, smokestack veins
Warm breath pushed by whistles, between wheels
The smell of an oncoming train
And like at funerals or in the films
On nights like this it always rains

With pale face and bright whites
Under shadow and smoke of her eyes
Red passion lipstick and fishnet thighs
An evil angel appeared to me that night
Black be her wings
Cold her split tongue onto mine
She was there to do me right
She put my death on respite

Dark was this dancer
There was no taste to her cancer
As she licked breathe back into me
Not much left but a romancer
sad memories and wrong answers
And one last thrust of energy
To escape her perdition
and years of remission
Her soul passed on to be free
Her one last chance at a good deed
Left me on Earth carrying her dark seed

Survivors only learn to survive
If we come to realize
What it is we did to stay alive
At about that time we understand, well we die
Such is the story of life

So little learned, it was not my time

P.O. box

Of course I don’t know what is
Inside each of these boxes
All the same on the outside
Stupid like smartest foxes
Hiding the games inside

Or opened roses drinking rain
By and for men. Don’t speak in vain
Perfumed swatches hiding pain
Skin and eyes talk insane
under goldy locks and key

Ebony. Ivory.
A bible phrase
Some baby speak

And than there’s Emily’s
An envelope for worlds to read
Her smile a path to memories
And Melody. Missing since
She hitched a ride
Into obscurity
Or Gertrude’s latest delivery
Moth ball promises and
Golf balls hooked into
Her fattest cat’s atrophy

Bob’s fishing lure
Bright yet obscure
Dangles just below the surface
You’ll just never know
All the stories to be told
How many the lines and verses

Truth be told
Open a book by saying hello
The key may turn
And yes you’ll learn
Henry is quite the fellow

Produce while you can

Rhythmic timing of the automated machines force those of us who notice our surroundings to try not to walk along to the

2, 4 beat. It’s. Em

barassi ng

At the grocery store I was buying a head of lettuce and rem embered the time I yelled at you for taking so long to pick out the lem. Emons. Barries. Maybe it was the same song playing in the background, the one no one ever seemed to LISTEN TO THE WORDS to, it triggered this subliminal memory. Or Me.

Too bad you will never read my poems. (A novel?) You would have, you knew your time was limited so you paid attention, (took time to enjoy) even when I was embar

assed that others would notice your goofy laugh. I know you knew. Sorry

I always take my time in the produce department. No matter what th they.


Might think

Barrasing. Don’t hide what makes you special