last year can go die in a dark corner
it can bleed out slow into
discarded dirty magazines and wrinkled paystubs.
it can die a sickly death
coughing into a bloody handkerchief
we were friends to begin but
slowly i got sick of her shit
and after being let down so often
by her and her addictions and her deceit
as she would take off all her clothes and
strut
around
the street
'look at me!
she shouts 'look how i can stand in a glass shop and
do damage
with an iron pipe'
laughing and beautifully psychotic
i could care less if she suffers a bit
after swinging so hard
at all my delicate shit
i long for a peaceful feeling
strong willed and freewheeling
i want to go fishing in the early morning
not so rundown and sick that i
east toast and light off the
computer again
stretched out on the grinding clock that squeals and spits fire and vulgar disdain back out
onto its plate
the resentment to another dollar rushing through my pocket
on its way out for the night
i long for hot sex under moonlight in a field
and deep dewy breath until the dawn
waking with droplets on my brow
like the nostalgic look
back
at better
days
not this slow rolling night after night
so beat down
by the world and my sore hands
and back
i want to dodge the heart attack
in a black cloak wearing steel wings and
circling
in
the
sky
soooo high
but close enough to smell
the sickly death
on his empty breath
the dark and cavernous well
of his soullessness
i want to be healthy again
a man who can outrun
his life
a little
i want to be so filled with
the luster of life
that i race to the tops of high things
to shout exclamations of
passionate grandeur
to the world that waits
with deaf
ears
i want to live in a world where
the news won't support the
hollow point
i keep
in a drawer.
a merciful metal
engraved to read, 'i was here!
just look at the wall.'
and that is all
the last living will
to notice the canon.
the indignant exposure
the masochistic exhibition
here is my beating heart
torn from my very chest and on
clear display
but only for a few days
come one come all
as that old red heart slows down
to a crawl.
and coughs a sputtering death
and falls
onto the floor below.
i am a lost song
like screaming into soundproofed glass
pounding my split & bleeding fist into
the smooth surface
and another quarter hits the jukebox
and now that fucking song again
like i'm not even here
to say no...
here it goes
another slippery slope
another year i won't pack all my shit up and go
so
here’s my toast
' i am chained to this beam....someone please bring me a little water...i am thirsty.'
and here is to this year!
writhing up a sprout out from the past
i hope you aren't as much a fucker as the last!
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