scribbles of the dead

there is a heaven
with 1920’s movie stars,
glasses – sunglasses –
to hide behind
so no one knows
it’s them;
a tourniquet for the mind
that only covers hair.
going crazy
like they go shopping
day in and day out
until the voices that said
“you ain’t worth a shit”
lie dormant in seas:
the salt preserves
Every God Damned Word,
Every Mother Fucking
God Damned
priceless word
that made today
the thing we run from,
always to another
tomorrow or yesterday.
The slow deliberate drags
like a wooden spoon
whoopin’
causes a dream to burst open
– a tumor on the spleen –
and all the heroes and enemies
hemorrhage out
into the winter night.
While dogs are barking
crying babies,
crying for a moon
and the hunger pains
of four days
drinking water in gas station bathrooms.
It is that heaven that sails ships
into deserts,
pouring amphetamine salts
in your eyes.