poetry

Green wash of surf finger paints
Lines along the shore as it advances and
Retreats.

Two men accosted me
and told me that I am an
asshole for not having a
light:

"what would you do if
you were stuck into the woods?"

They dressed in gray rags,
unlike the orange sun.

They said, "the woods'll
have your ass for lunch!"

"Sorry, I don't smoke"

Q: Do you have a light?
A: No, I don't smoke.

It is not safe to be in
parks after dark, I guess

home, safe haven. work, accidents always happen mostly within ten miles of home. home is elusive. used to think that hope is where your hat hung. well hung hate. fedora. baseball. ten gallon. skull capped with a browning 9mm. drinking at mickey's last night, finishing off with mack, when we drank two shots of tequila each and talked about how our jobs where alike:

i am a data plumber and mac plumbs pipes, lead, filled with immovable shit. my data collisions and his turds. the a/c, the turd, urine filled vats yellow viscous and stinking.

a boy told me he must suffer so suffer he shall; a boy told me his life is gravy and delicious and it is it is. poor fools poor fools but i cannot blame them because look at all their friends and parents and world and school and look at the darkness of the clothing.

rather, vivid colors. rather, catch a rainbow. rather, embrace the vibrating illusion. i won't accept your downer bullshit cause it might infect my sunny dispossession.

Contraband heroine;
Ice packets, ice prophets.
Plumes of iridescent
Neon and platinum shimmer
Like blacktop mirage;
Curving glass hums against
Flickering butane rockets:
Blue and white edged by red
To white, to gray --

Explosive brilliance
Of boulders tossed into a still pond.
Circles of blue and black
Distend out forever --
Disturbing pageantry:
A gentry with esoteric delusions,
Of substandard highs and
Irreproachable lows.

Deranged phychobabble in three stanzas.
Thrown chairs shatter, raging lunacy howls,
And the Mossberg speaks in twelve-gauge shot.
The lifeline death; her breath is
Sweet like flowers,
Her one night stand, eternity;
She glides, in gossamer gown,
And stoops, thin fingers lifting the
Hard White stone.