Saturday, July 27, 2013


nothing left but to
break the baby’s hands

october and then
blind paths to christ and back roads
littered with corpses and
then this man i know who divorces
one waitress to marry another

who ends up in
a two-room apartment
addicted to self-pity

has three children who no
longer speak to him and the
barrel of a gun in his mouth and
we all hold our breaths
waiting for a happy ending

we all laugh at the prophets
with their tongues cut out

how could they have
not seen this coming?

Sunday, July 07, 2013

mary's house

yellow light into grey,
       end of november,
             almost warm,
          almost hopeful,
and when you’re tired of being an artist or
      when you’re tired of bleeding for minimum wage,
      when you’re tired of sorrow,
                           tired of breathing,
there’s always suicide and
it’s not like i’m telling you something new here

it’s not like i’m saying
anything at all

Saturday, July 06, 2013


no way to
measure the cost of
god but in human lives

no way to justify the
self-righteous ass-lickers
in their high holy chairs

no way out for
any of us but through
endless rooms of