My father, he lives in a place
where the internet connection
fades
when the rain rolls in
from the tropics.
The heat today
is unbearably near
to my skin,
the electricity
of water and iodine combined,
static tension packed tight
pushing deeper and
embedding
like the seed of new child.

I've got shoes made of
rotted wood and nails and
my insides are curdling,
curdling.

possession

I watch the water boil
and I swallow the silence,
tuck it beneath swollen tongue
It is all so simplified
this way,
but so heavy in the night.
Books with smoke pages
and so much alone,
so solemn
a commodity
that it nearly kills itself to sell.
I'm not buying.

Shock treatment


An empty ice-less icebox
strange to taste
and a
loneliness one can only
grow to love
on such days
All this
Brittle, stilted, artificial
stuff.
Thunderous silence but
I sense it
beneath your strong,
turned back
And alongside a tumbling stomach.
Fingers which
twitch and tremble
in pockets
of gold
cold to the touch,
the lack thereof
of
of something and
Absolute blind fuming sick.
Humiliation and insulin
trances and
false post-partum depression.
I will pull your tonsils out
as you so plead
but only to trade you the ache
for a surging burn of acid
in my body
These nights, they keep
twisting me into balls and
a small, very small word before bed.

West Texas Wedding Singer


When you've been drinking
your face turns red,
cherry round and warm
And your eyes look bluer then,
your teeth stand at attention
White and endless and
fierce in the light.

This place in these days


This place is sinking quicker
than the oil can leak,
and we're all sitting pretty
until we catch the heat.
Hotter and hotter these days
and I sleep harder and rounder
only wondering how long
it can possibly go on,
washed in the fury
the horror and the sound.
The sound of voices I believe to know,
they echo and rise higher
around//
Me. These desires,
they break wild and
travel far from the places,
these places I go, I go and
grow to know and
cradle
and loathe,
These days.