Saturday, October 01, 2016


all that fucking and bloodshed on
burnt hill road, all that laughter and hurt

sound of planes coming in low
and then the baby disappeared

four years and then fourteen and
then she comes back with a
baby of her own

roof rusted and crows in the field

dead fox at the end of the driveway

ask kristen, though, and all she says is
bones were made to be broken

all she does is smile
like every answer is obvious

like every mouth is filled with sharpened
teeth and broken glass and we have
been waiting for the sun now
ever since the last failed war

we have been fed nothing but the
truths of whores and liars and
i am tired of starving

i am blessed with visions

am a coward disguised as a god and it
makes me uneasy to be loved

i tell jokes

i look away

there is always the possibility that
all roads lead to
ownership and servitude

there is the constant probability
that i will screw up every good thing
in my life and then lay the
blame elsewhere

what i see when i look
in the mirror is you

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