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.

Bullet Train Hoping (Hopping)

Bullet train hopping to heart attack.
Riding the rails again, showing you Heaven before
swift delivery
to slow Hell.
Push-pins going through my fingers tips with a cloud of hope floating out of reach.
To claw at.
Dust breathing ghost whispers linger in my ear; Where have you been?


(I missed you too.)

Block.

Torrents of unbridled recall flashing across the terrain of my notched spine in sync with your finger tips, like a vivid memory of a violent car crash, but the powers are not so negative when I remember the everything that comprises every me when I'm soaking in every You, and the wreckage is beautiful and for once I wake to dance among it.

I Fear For Your Wrist Watch,

Everyday the landscape is evolving
and the stars look different every night
but really they are the exact same
with a new view from the bottom
reminding you that you are running
out of time to count them all
and that this is only the beginning.

Maybe a Tractor or a Back Hoe.

I was out there wondering how much longer I had to burn
and how the fires don't look so pretty when you are in them.
My jubilee burns out every once in a while,
and I get mechanical aching in my gears
my jaw locks up

decides to hibernate like farm machinery put away for the winter
and the wells dry up
and my skeleton sits in a tool shed picked clean by rats in the night time;
the right time for me to be playing solitaire in a too-warm computer chair
wishing I had a stable leg to walk on.
I am sitting here wondering how much longer I have to burn

Bright Green Smog Filter.

Spectral people walk the streets on thin concrete with a pulse like molten rocks floating on lava. Bodies disjointed, solid limbs held together by veins of mist while walking with robotic legs carrying a plasma torso. The air is thicker than we are and the industrial wastes streaming from hundred foot towers is dense, not unlike the clouds of thought clamoring for attention storming in my brain. You are cart-wheeling in a grotesque fashion; Your body rolls with your direction, head never upside down but at some point below the knees. Every thing You thought You knew was wrong.

So Hot.

Like an over-exposed Polaroid
left to bleach on a dashboard,
I may appear dull,
but I have life left in me and stories to tell.
But the sun has a heat like hate
that might just burn me up one of these days.
The anger gets so hot sometimes.
Outside rage may be the death of me.
Please be my moon.
(The non-conflict seeking kind)

Sharper than Cheddar.

Hungry and hollow
Bones chewing air grinding against each other
Your sternum creaks from the effort of sucking me thin
I can feel the ends of your teeth in my mouth
Worn down at the tines from the stress of your words
That break your incisors
That dry out your tongue
That will never come out
Did you have something to say or just something to hate?
Or were your ribs looking for some padding?
Or some substance for your actions?
The wind won't feed you
It's just taking your words away.
And breaking their brittle spines
I never knew cheekbones were effective razor blades
Until you ran out of things to say
When there was nothing left of me for you to eat