Friday, November 28, 2008


the pieces of her life fall around her
crushed cinder block pieces
just edges, no shapes.
she, always looking backwards, down and
notices not and uses these found treasures
to build her dreams
undermining with each new addition
the very foundation of her being.
Why didn't anyone tell her before?
she wonders aloud, tripping, always
on the dust and debris.


the exit doors come faster now
as if I were running
(am I running?)
slamming open and closed
unhinged in the wind
(am I unhinged?)
eventually I will time it wrong
and like a red light on icy roads
it will all come crashing down.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

I love you a round circle.

The ridges in my fingernails from
the trauma of you leaving,
Deep crescents in every nail
as if someone had hit them all
with a hammer,
are finally growing out.
The ridges on the right hand are
deeper than the left,
and I keep telling myself that
when they are finally gone,
when I have clipped and filed them
out of existence,
then so will you go:
On the bathroom floor,
down the drain.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Tom Ward III. The Predictions.

you guys are great. I'll never have to worry. We all know how we're going to die. Michael, you of course will die of alcoholism. And you, Liz, will overdose, obviously.

For You.

I read you a love poem that night
through broken teeth.
I was crumpled on the sidewalk
my hair in a halo, sopping up
the blood from my gums.
You looked into my eyes and
through you I could see myself
stripped of my dignity and
pulling against the gravity,
using only the shattered remains
of my incisors
the empty sockets being pulped
against the filthy cement-
trying to reach you.
I was reading you a love poem
that night you left me
My arms and legs useless
and skewed.
As I inched forward they became
my comet's tail-
just simple waste products,
elements formally of relevance.
She must have found me there later
nose ground down,
jaw forced twisted.

Blood and enamel
inhaled, exhaled.

Two Pieces.

No pressure from " you can do anything," I can just do what I want.

The sun is starting to come out but I still can't find a way outside of these walls. Behind every door there is another door. Behind that a well lit room at midnight nose pressed up against the glass no curtains no clothing.


I can not feel this forever
this constant pressing knowlege of failure
the fact that you are waiting for reprimand
allows it to happen.

You shit head (my mind says)
you ugly motherfucker -
(who will never get it together -
who can not love
who will never be open again)
you stupid cunt.
you should be dead.

Untitled, Twice

My heart and soul remain in deep conflict now
half of me desperate for stability, for
anything to count on ever.
Knowing full well that nothing
will ever be the same again.

Do you:
give in
straighten up
consolidate your debt
very low interest!
easy monthly installments!
Do you:
trade in your rust box and
sign a lease for Something Shiny?
Pay Your Bills When They Arrive.
Brush Your Teeth With Bleach.
Or do you:
pack your shit up for your landlord and
throw yourself to the curb.
leave your dog at your boyfriend's with
that spare key he gave you on her collar.

hit the road running
head south and
start a fire without matches.
Build that bungalow with a sod floor and
sleep in hammocks wrapped in
the heavy scent of magnolia.
Roast persimmons with light bulbs
and smear that juice,
that red orange of liberation will just slide down your throat
Like You've Always Dreamed Of, and

no man will ever swing his cock at you
Willl never make you suck your yeast infection
from his foreskin.
Will Never Hurt You.

You will sleep naked,
with no fear of violation.
There is a woods out there where
you can start over.