Sometimes it's hard to cross the street.

The lines painted on Lincoln are like crooked broken teeth looking to swallow me after being mangled by oncoming traffic in this game of real life Frogger.

I guess this deformity is not so bad, Autmn forever.

I still remember in ways I don't want to
and it cracks my clavicle like a wishbone with nothing to lose.
What do you wish for?
Breaking my bones like twigs in rough bare hands?
Too late,
I recovered clumsily with some Scotch tape
and I'm a smiling pathetic wraith
with adhesive for eyes that stick to every vulnerable male possibility.
I sway awkwardly in a grotesque gait
past cemetery gates like it will never be
Winter and my optimism and love of the chill
will suspend Fall forever like a snow globe of vibrant raining leaves
and never snow.
I am a tree without roots, rotting,
bending and not breaking,
riding the wind with a twisted smile,
And singing along with it in perfect time.

A bottle a day.

A bottle a day keeps the Devil at your doorstep and a disharmony in my palpitating heart. You didn't think twice about throwing my corpse on the front lawn; I'm not appreciating your wayward necromancy. Stop trying to wake the dead only to drown me when you're through. I never want to see you on my front porch again.

North Pole

I put magnets to my chest and they cling to my stainless steel heart. I'm drawn to the metallic; my wrought iron skeleton is wrought with too pillowy of flesh. I clank, my gears grind unlubricated. I'll rust myself to sleep at night. I click away hours spent making a a cadence with my steel tongue on a bear trap. I creak in the wind and sway like sky scraper in heels before I think myself to death

Let me tell you what charcoal tastes like

Bittersweet grill licking.

Sometimes I can recall losing my mind, briefly.

It broke apart in my hands like a block of sod
but it bled like brain matter and I worried about the carpet. I remembered
the guttural sounds and my fingers
on the window screen;

some storm guard that was,


it kept me inside instead of keeping the weather out when
(I was the weather.)
the joints like trees violently shaking in the wind of my confusion;
I was raining pretty hard of course.
The wild urge of my debris to spin and destroy left my arms numb
when I knew I was an egg fallen off a wall
and I had stained a reminder to outlast any scar
mapped out on the organs I gutted from myself
that the steak knife wasn't for opening CD cases.