Daydreams

some days
we long to be killed
more than others

to save us
from spilling
our secretive druthers

in rum-soaked confessions
to loathsome ex-lovers

or nameless encounters
with strangers uncovered

shamelessly asking for help
from our mothers

whose salt stings the wounds
from the womb to the gutter

whose ruinous choices
left pagans to shudder

impetuous voicings
so flagrantly uttered

lugubrious lamentations
seethe and smother

you see
i have neither the will
nor the the wanting

to languish in suffering
ever so daunting

i rather prefer
to bestir to the coffin

and slough this infernal coil
right the fuck off then!

[image credit: Edward Honaker]

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ere i walked the shadows
of a shameless life eschewed
i sometimes talked for hours
on the telephone
’tis true

attending to the inbox
which would hold my correspondence
until one day i stopped
having become too despondent

seven years have come and gone
and still i have not looked
nor listened to my messages
not even on facebook

this plague pervades
most every aspect
of my adult years
i since have lost the respect
of my family and peers

for they can’t see the reasons
nor the logic of my plight
its tragedy is lost
amid the inference of their slight

presuming that it must be
that they’ve somehow drawn my ire
some say i’m maladjusted
others think i have retired

i cannot help but panic
upon hearing rings and tones
instilling in me frantic feelings
reeling in my home

truth be told i have disabled
every last alarm
and push notification
for they only cause me harm

and should you try to reach out
with an intention to touch
you’ll not invade this redoubt
that has long since been my crutch

and if you are to know me
then you first must understand
even if you are the homie
you can talk to your own hand

I Hazard to Ponder

fragments of lovers
burned fast
fall to ash
in this charcoaled heap
that lay afoot

this exterior
excoriated
by the nails
of their failings

but none can impale

for I only have lived
in the aftermath
of a restless memory

forged in a dream

i hazard to ponder

if love had ever surpassed
the scorching
of this insolent soul.

but all I have
beheld

is mounds of
rubble
pounding
plotting
persisting.

the sea now beckons
the sanctity of sleep
on her floor
of forgiving

through this channel of tears
from sorrows impounded