final stopThankless nightSpent the last of myMoney on my failed transmissionThis and last month's water billMinimum payment on three credit cardsBut shit, money is nothingI've been unhappy so long-The moon is really gleaming tonightLike, I don't think I have seen itThis damn bright in yearsThe road is clear and the viewIs beautifulSo fucking beautifulWhen I drive over the pavement markersIt kind of sounds like a trainRattling over tracksSounds like I managed toCatch the last train homeAnd then I let my car derail...
daily grindDisposable peopleToss inkless pensLifelong serviceOn rotating shiftsPay day endsDue date beginsFan me, slaveYes, master
LoomThese pieces sewn togetherBy my hand entwinedFragments of knowledgePatches still bare and poorly stitchedGood and bad qualityThis warm, threadbare blanketBut how was I supposed to knowThe truth
benedictiona town that smallgets ants in their bloodlike the devil put its handon their shoulderand whispered
party pig / marrano muertoen el ranchome tapé los oídos.manchas de sangre corrianen la placitadonde el cerdo atadocolgaba de los piesgoteando. tomo dos balazosy la garganta degolladapara matar el cerdo.nunca olvidaréaquel grito.-----------------------on the ranchI covered my ears.blood stains streakedthe courtyardwhere the bound swinehung from its feet,draining.it took two gunshotsand a slit throatto kill the pig.I'll never forgetthat scream.
don't forget to wash your hands on the way outshoe prints on wet tilesit's definitely the smellof baby shitthe talcum powder scentlining thegrout with urine and toilet watermight as well take a chanceand piss outside
Bukowski's on my nightstandgetting blackout drunk atparties or real fistfights where I left a bruise like a purple sunof the gut of some nameless------fuckeror when I tried a cigarette inan abandoned house for thefirst time when I cussed out my rival I knew I wasn't hardthe real pain of magicwas when the adultsweren't watching I'd go to sleep andthinkwho I'd be tomorrowand not do it
route 66deep in the desertof enchantmentthe bosque caughtfire and createdthe smoke miragea djinn came outof the red sand
SUNBEAMThere is an intermittent anxietyfrom sitting in silence so longI should be doing somethingInstead I look at a reportBubbling in the gaps of B letters untilthe words lose their figureIs this right? I askI don't know kidIf I knewThings 'a been changedA long time ago
DuskStars melt and flood thenight sky, lighting the way tountold days ahead.
DawnFortune awaits youin silvers and golds; holdingbrighter tomorrows.
Evergreen tankahanging a wreath and stockingsdecorating the housemy father never sawhow grief would lingeryear after year
CCLXXXVIsaplingsbent with snow...getting old
A Moth Among ButterfliesOnce the colors runAll that remains to be seenIs an ugly face
The MirrorLook in the mirrorHeart breaks as I start to weepMy bully stares back
HomeThe cold wind beats at my window as the snow swirls and whirls, dancing to its beat. I sit in my old overstuffed armchair; a hot cup cradled in my hand, held up to my face, warming my nose and fogging up my glasses. Over my knee a blanket lies, my toes trapping it so as not to lose it to the floor. In this lament, in my favourite spot I dare not move, surveying my kingdom in comfort.Overstuffed armchairHas taken me prisoner,My throne in my home.
Uncharted TerritoryI'm capable ofBelieving in myself andNot what you assume
see the lady - evolutionarily- a tanka -impact of beauty:on him - mute inhalationon her - advantageas it is in her Springtimeso it shall be in his fallllp - dA - dec2014
on BeingThey say sell yourself,but don't brag and be humble.Why be anything?