Recycle Bin

a wretched hand

made

right without

a hanger

or a pair of

pants only

a widdled bucket

that strives

to be  

lost and found

Kentucky Romance

 

white picket

penitent chicks

in a hollowed out tanning bed

chirp chirp

eggs, fetch the eggs bitch

wipe that pout off your chin

when daddys sleepin we’ll meet

in crab orchard, I’ll blow

and you’ll hold me forever

i run silent to ruin you good

but find daddy got you first with his

45 peacemaker

Sturm und Drang

A compact asian

Wails sounds of spring after

Fraternizing with Muller

Tonight he dresses in focus

To disguise the crane that plucks

His beluga lips

Each shriek-twitch-sigh

She chucks back cords

His mouth around her wisecrack

For the hollowed womb

He rests on his shoulder

Quibbles with manhandled contact

High Tide

The temptress gargles

A mouthful of salt and fish

Her strong authority

Nudes the sand

The greedy cleanse

Leaves her tired

Disgusted by the exposed

Blemished land

With a foamy stretch

And a blue yawn

She vomits out his battered body

Window Shopping

strip mannequins of their painted

pride skin their Ray Ban eyelashes

feathers to your macaroni

project trade their clammy palms

for cheap jewelry drink the metallic

mixture your platelet brew

that breeds monkeys and porcelain

dolls dressed in t-shirts that tattle:

Race is an Object not a Color

June 23, 1953

Young scared blushing

Her lace bodice cage

A white backdrop

To the bouquet in her hands

Her daddy’s arm

Guides the drooping wing

While her veiled frown

Watches carefully each carpeted step

Three meet at stage bottom

Her pale bile cheeks face

His concerned paperclip grin

The back of her father turned now

Towards the stained altar

Where three candles loom on display

And a lit match

Stains the white tablecloth

Her blush drains as he places

The tip of his waxy pillar to the middle candle

His eyebrows heighten

With her added flame

The marriage candle screams

It’s flame pointing downward

A wax trail etched 6 weeks prior

By the tears under her veil

Hearing the white of her gown

Her parent’s naïvely smile

During the hackneyed union of two wax people

In whose basement I was already placed

Astounded

You show me the love of Christ through others and it makes me unravel, melt and shrink back in overwhelmed gratitude. The reckless love of Christ is nonsensical to man. You have recently shown me this love through Zach. Zach has been spending time with me while I have been sick, and each day I am burdened with my inability to receive such radical love. I want so badly to show him that I appreciate him when he puts a cold rag on my forehead, drives me to the doctor or tells me to go back to my room and rest because he can see I am feeling miserable. I want to visit him, bring him coffee, cook him dinner, take him to see James Maddock, do his laundry… Burning inside me is love for this man, and the inability to show this love is murderous to my heart. Yet I need to be sure that I am not basing my frustration on a lie. Will Zach know that I love him even though I can’t show it? I am physically unable to do so at this time. The truth is that when I am able to love Zach and do not, this is when he will feel unappreciated. His ability to love me, to give to me, when I am in desperate need is fulfillment enough for himself. He understands that I am unable, and is willing to give over and over again. I need to be willing to receive. But when I am able, Zachary, I will love you ridiculously.