Perpetual Rise
The perpetual
rise in which I
sleep takes me to
dreams of
singing clocks.
I bellow with
them, proud of
myself for the
slumber where I’m
above
the pain.
I no longer
feed the
pang which
whittles my
brain; I
feast on the
numbers that
have lead me to
thirty-three years of
perseverance and pride.
I imbibe the
sun, let the
warmth thaw the
winter of illness.
It always
returns but
I’ll be
prepared every time.
Everything will
be okay.
Mantras blur my
kindling soul.
Falling Pigs
The pigs fall from
the sky.
Our guns billow smoke.
We almost
had it all but
we hate
ourselves and
one another.
The streets fill with
the rot of what
could have been.
We drink from
our bleeding
gums and
wonder “why?” when
only the
mud puddles tell
the truth: we
are abhorrent.
It’s Over
“It’s over!” you
told me more
times than we kissed.
The sun outside my
window turned into
an ellipsis.
“I can fix this!” I pleaded.
You either
laughed or cried.
I could never
tell the difference.
Maybe that’s why
the universe is
saying goodbye.
I was sinking too
far into
the fissures in
my eyes to
notice the wilting
flowers in yours.
Is it too
late to apologize?
I only see your outline.
Not even a
utopia could
bring you back.
The Capybara And The Python
Today I
choose to feed the
capybara, not
the python.
Highways from
everywhere lead to my
laughing mouth.
I am
densely populated with
the things I
hold dear.
The streetlights in my
eyes will
lead me to sanctuary.
I sleep in the
warmth of
illuminated rain.
I have it
all
except the
loathing I tossed from
the bridge over Youth.
It was a
bittersweet goodbye but
I am
refreshed and
powerful as the
clocks against which
I fight.
Dumpster Fire Press 