Tuesday, December 23, 2014

birthday song, for dorothea

with dreams of metal towers
and of static, dreams of silver skies
and then waking up

the here and now is a fist
and so the future can only be
whatever pain comes next

i have no other truths

have only one hand that holds and
the other that pushes away

have only scar tissue and
empty ideals and with the music

up loud enough the sun
makes no sound at all

the baby sleeps beneath
the shadows of passing clouds

wakes up crying softly
just as the air runs out

Saturday, December 20, 2014


chasing headlights down december
back roads, not yet 6:30 and
already full dark

half-moon and sleeping houses

this man with
a mouthful of poison

wants to show you how easy it is to
hurt you
then wants you to beg for more

absolute zero when the knife goes in

small wooden cross on the
living room wall
cop pulls the trigger and
the child is dead and how far do you
have to look to find someone

for how much longer will we
allow ourselves to
be a nation of assholes?

been a long
fucking time already