Heavy reigns

It rained a lot yesterday

Washed out the pile of dirt

Beside the driveway

I found your favorite toy

From when you were four

Remember him my baby boy?

You remember little firehorse?

That family vacation when we drove

About an hour away

You started crying, Couldn’t find him

But I wouldn’t turn back no way

That was the trip.

When you got sick

Things would never be the same

Firehorse was always there waiting to play

In the pile of dirt

Beside the driveway

Chamomile tea

I always thought you were a handsome man

Though I’d never seen you in a suit

Until you were laying with your eyes and mouth sewn shut in it

That final forced smile

The thing I pondered was your stubble

Forced through your chin like

Memories.

we shared a sandwich. A jack n coke

Other things.

It wasn’t there yesterday

I guess hair still grows without our trying

I’m just waiting for the water to warm up

Me green thumb

I held that four leaf clover high

Took me hours to find

With it a wish, for me momma to come

But come she’d done

Bedded. Sick with sad

Oooh here comes dad.

Me pup pissed the carpet bad
Lord he looks mad

As I gripped me ankles for the beatin

If I cry he’ll be repeatin

So ah’ll focus rubbin clover to none
‘Tween forefinger and thumb
For failing me ‘n my sore bum

Slainte

The mistake on the lake

The whispers of bulrushes part and clear a way
A pathetic trail along the Erie fringes
To back doors hanging on rusty 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 amass these hungry blowflies
Oviposition her promised promotion
In the putrefaction – a premonition
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 for food, payment 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

Molars

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 end
Of a sustantivos poem is

Look again