the rain

the sky outside is melting,right down into my bones.they say trauma is heldright down into the muscle;there’s women all over the worldand every one is ugly –     uglier than a single sin     with a neighbor boy in the rain.we don’t talk about traumain the bones or the muscleswhen the sky outside is melting.

Whores

The best thing about a whore is her honesty, fucking real honesty like you can’t even get in church. And when they tell you about your cock, how nice it is and sweet and pure, when they pump you up about your scent after you’ve been in the mines for a week, when they hold … Read moreWhores

beat up

Never got so beat up that I couldn’t see lifefrom the barrel of hell –        shiny blue and wreaking of sobriety,we fuck in solitary,from behind confinementwalls made from my own fearswhere she criesand I lieabout the night.And besides, it was not so long ago that the tearswere mine and the lies hers,but we said we would … Read morebeat up

Wasted Children

I will drink and drink until I am drunk with life I said I would – when? was it 10,000 years ago when I spent my days in mud and muck waiting for a lung to breath the scent of your hair across pillows, green as spring lawns manicured to hide the dangers of love? … Read moreWasted Children

good bye

I dream of the daywhere life falls awayand the seconds pass so slowthe wind softly blowsoutside where we lie deeptogether as one, not two;I dream I’m not blue.I imagine you’re here,everything is gone but now,shadows dance along the wallsand you’re safe with meand I don’t grieve.I see a night not lost to emptinessand your hair … Read moregood bye

mother fuckers

When I placed it on the bar I left with trust in my heart. When I returned, I lost a part of my soul. Where did my oblivion go? O, Salvation, who has you? I know I’ve made a deal with 2 devils         one says I can         one says I can’t. Fuck the both of … Read moremother fuckers

Metro Poetry III

Russian Inconsequence perhaps the Ukraine A black sea of love with a foreign name. There, see, she smiled probably not at me But with an oz. of luck I’ll be an extra in her dreams.

metro poetry I

Yoga mat destinations toe ring decorative walk. And flannel that is not   (it is summer, after all) Red Sox iPods Red Topped love. Curls to bounce… my enwrapped heart. Imaginary voices to tell me of shuttles and elevators to god. Everyone is beautiful @ 10 AM no Hangovers, no Fights no screaming last night. Yoga’s … Read moremetro poetry I

Soapbox Artist: collecting art & literature of the worst kind