Poetry

It’s a suicide day,
if there ever will be.

Hot & Sweaty,
Nitty Gritty,

New Ways and Methods;
A brother could die
to such a murderess.

Affirmations at dawn,
Confessions at dusk…
Yours are the only lips
– I trust.

“Aw, Fuck,” I said.
“I think I just shit myself.”

you show me the dead,

uncover your false patriots

I have lost my name
to the scourge of so much travel;

There’s a green skirt
wearing nose with
delicate pouty lip service
to silence.

The space between the wars,
distance between bombs, is time