For My Friend, J.W.B.

They say the hell we have
is the hell we make.
I say our only fire
is the bread they take;
slavery didn't end in '65,
it breaths today
it is still alive.

To Teetotalers, Go To Hell

Eleven empty bottles
sitting on my window seal;
The ghost of you still haunts me,
i think it always will.

Ale

third one down fast,
enjoy the drink you're havin',
it could be your last.

In the fields outside the kingdom walls

In the fields outside the kingdom walls
there is grain as golden as the skies of heaven,
green grasses, rippling brooks laughing at men,
proud at what they think they do.

Tilling, irrigation, plowing, harvesting,
sloughing, milling, grinding, baking.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.
i am a man who forgot i do nothing,
even though i do everything.

cut back, plant - the secret efforts of
a dying pawn. i never forgot the fields
outside the kingdom walls were as much kingdom
as the stately structures inside the walls.
i forgot my place, maybe not even forgetfullness,

maybe i had divine indifference, maybe a pharoh's
heart. i ignored the lillies of the field,
those falling sparrows, i said "Your clothes are
not as splendid as mine, you are not as strong as i."
to the tortise i said "You are not as smart as i."

nothing as i. nothing as i. in the fields outside
the kingdom walls i wore the badge, nothing as i.
i come with empty hands, the day of destruction
is closer than i think. it feeds like an angry owl.

there is beauty in the fields outstide the walls,
and the beauty is the kings, but like destruction
the king remains unseen, a ghost walker among
his people and his lands. and the owl flys at night.

i can not release my hand from the sickle,
it is on the golden wheat in seconds, the song
of the thrash in the afternoon glory. and as the
darkness rolls in i lay down in the cleared grass.

i put myself in the clearing like a slaughtered
lamb, as still as possible, blood on my hands,
blood on my throat. all i know is i am nothing
in the fields outside the kingdom walls.

i Ain't Got No Socks

i ain't wearin' socks right now
my bare feet in my shoes makes me
think of summer. it don't just make me
think of summer, it makes me long for
summer. it's only two weeks passed away
but i already want it, always what i
don't got. i always want what i don't got.
but wanting summer is deeper, it is like
a sickness inside me. fall is wonderful
don't get me wrong, i have wanted it ever
since it ended last year. there's a pain
in my head. my right eye hurts like sin.
i think of the switchblades of summer,
soon to be traded for snow shovels. i
guess my words will be changin' too.
how i tell people about things, it ain't
never normal. sometimes i think bad things
about people, i don't mean to, i just do.
i don't mean the things i do, i do little
little things all the time that are bad.
don't worry though, i can't get to you,
you hide yourself away. you run and hide
like i do, i wonder if i did that to you.
i wonder if i broke you, if being broken
on the wheels of living is what i have done
to you, like i have done to myself. i don't
like the Fall right now. it makes me scared,
makes my legs shake, causes me to sleep a lot
to keep my hands at bay. The Fall is bad
medicine to me right now, and the only good
medicine is summer, it is illegal, it won't
come around to me. i am scared of my doctor,
he doesn't like me, doesn't think the fears
i have are real. i would love to and not to
show him, one day, just for one, but no one
should have the leg shakes and the right
eye that hurts like sin. gone all summer,
those dangers in the back of my throat, me not
speaking, me not living, not tellin' the
truth. It makes me ashamed and scared for you,
i don't think you should be afraid, i would
cut my own hands and feet off before it
happens bad, but keep a warry eye and know
when to hand me the saw. oh, it hurts, i
don't know what is worse my mind or my
body. it's all a little more quiet now.

i ain't got no socks on right now, it makes
me think of summer. God i want summer so bad
please give me another summer.

You Had A Name But i Can Not Remember It

When i was younger, maybe fourteen years old,
there was a dog who lived on a wire in the yard
of my father's stone manufacturing plant.

He was a mean dog. He was yellow, lean,
bristling fur, white teeth. Firm, muscular,
a neck calloused by chains.

i could never go near him, he smelled the
fear in me and dominated me. That nameless
dog was the most terrifying being in my world.

One day my father told me to clear the weeds from
the yard, from around the stones, the green
in their growth can stain the curing rocks.

When the yellow dog came near me, growling,
i caught the tip of his nose with my knife.
He cowarded from me from that time on.

That poor dog on a wire, probably underfed,
over sunned; vicious - afraid. His scarred nose
white with a knife mark.

i didn't know i would cry when my father told me.
i was a boy and didn't know about the
things of men, of how the world works, how cruel it can be.

The nameless yellow dog died during the night.
During the thunderstorm he had become even
more afraid, more than me and my youthful blade.

He had jumped the fence with his wire 'round
his neck. There isn't a way to tell but he either
choked or broke his strong yellow neck on his wire.

i had never known the death of an enemy, what's
more, i hadn't known he was always my friend.
he was afraid, i had cut him, he died without my apologies.

So dog, You had a name but i can not remember it,
you were a good dog, i am sorry i treated you bad,
i hope things are better for you now, off of the wire.

For You, Waterfall

There's a ring in the bottom of a well
somewhere in Eastern Colorado;
there's a heart in the bottom of the falls
North of the Texas state line.
i wish they belonged to me.

i remember the air, cool with
the December air, repose, thousands
of falling breaths crashing onto the rocks
below my feet. It was more than the
first day of Winter, it was without.

So deep in my heart, a kiss that never was,
a stolen friend, a miracle at the well that
didn't come. An able hand without a will.
The smell of sorrow rising from the water
as it broke its way down dense, open hearted, stone.

It took all i had not to join those voices,
those mournful, sorrowful, voices of the waters
crying there way into the air. i tried so hard, so
hard in every way. you gypsied my heart,
now my feet can't be still, never settled.

The wings of the air held me steady
at the top of the cliff. Their feathers pulling
at my jacket. i climbed down without the
most jewelry i had ever bought. It glittered
silver and fire as it fell down with the voices.

Every mired step down got easier and
lighter as i left my love for you behind.
i needed help leaving. needed a spark.
i was prometheus though instead of stealing
the fire at the top, i climbed the mountain.

Late at night when i think of you
the song of the falls still rings in my ears.
The secret whisper of friends falling down
into the river, becoming part of a history
not my own, never my own.

Your White Coat Makes Me Sick

Your White Coat Makes Me Sick.
Your prescription pad always
scribbling away, dispensing drugs to me,
onward and upward to stoned control.
You're not willing to talk to me -
i am so lost in the moment,
that breathless, vulnerable moment,
i forget to ask about this and that.
You move quickly from me,
discarding me to poor, drug taking life.
You are lucky my wits were not about me,
you are lucky i needed, hoped, for you to have
something for me. Something tangible.
Oh and you did have something for me -
no time, no asnwers, no thought.
If someone treats me like that in the
street they are as good as a gutted
racoon. White coat or none you best
think of your self now. my enemies are few,
pain is not even my enemy, it is my constant
companion - you, though, are now my enemy.
So congratulations you dead man in white coat,
you are enemy mine and i trifle not with common hells.

The Only Place You Know

The soil and grass were wet with
the dew of the morning. Crystals of
water sprinkled in the mist as
the morning sun ate the fog covering
the grave markers; tall and silent -
holding there spines straight and strong
for the living.

Fresh dirt fills the smell of the air;
soil and the making of men.

She spoke with words that
trembled on like hell at the end of time.

"He was a good man", she told me,
"Like most the good and the dead
he had to be the last to leave and
never a friend or a body left behind."

That was all she said.
The sun wore on us in its way.

If i could, i would have held her hand.

Talk To Me

Her lips are sealed, the space between stones.
The silence is a taste, an awkward dessert,
all to familiar race into the mouth of discontent.
Haste to the point of abuse, her eyes fixed into
the hush in the room, at least i know we see
the same thing, a little out of place joint.

The curse falls like heaven and land,
suffer now child of God, mother of men,
you are no longer in the balance, so bare
the burden unto thine offspring whose body
shares the same affliction. Her marble motions
tell me all I need to know.

I slowly stand into the force of the river,
no faith on the banks, brand me now with the
iron of courage. The twill in my jacket talks to
my arms - you will not fear the wind, the hat
says no such thing to my face.

Ice cream it is.

The Pirate and the Bible

Her blood on my fingers is as smooth as black soot made white as snow;
I wish I knew her name, I suppose it is of little importance now,
she tried her hardest and that made it good, better than the last.

I have seven new messages on my voicemail, six from a "law office",
they are worse than dead if they knock at my door, and one from
the therapist, apparently they want me back at group - I want
a ham sandwhich.

The pills I take no longer taste bitter, I like to chew them - let that limestone
chalk taste fill my mouth, it's more cleansing than mouthwash. I don't know if
those mouthwash tablets work like they are intended, pain is rarely disuaded.

The last guy i punched wound up in the hospital, I'm glad I have police friends,
but I am glad they don't know about the bonfire in the desert; there is at least
one set of findable teeth out on the firebranded Pawnee Grasslands. Got to love
the forgotten state parks - I have not forgotten you.

I get these dreams, dreams of dying and killing, I get them at work
where I sleepwalk through the day. Trying to keep my hands from doing things,
trying to keep my mouth from hurting. My right eyelid twitches like the white rabbit.

So back to the girl, ahh she doesn't matter much. Nothing matters really,
without hell, without those lonely trips to the Grasslands, burlap bag and
diesel fuel in the trunk of my car. The tags are up to date, I don't get
pulled over.

So what's one more fire to you? It doesn't mean a damn thing to me,
the moment is over, it is statistics now. Rather arbitrary motions fill me
and my thoughts turn back to group. Maybe I will go back,
tell those snivelling incadescents what true life and light are.

Tell those panty wearing limp wrists what pain is, what it takes
to be free from the darkness, to stand in the light as He is in the
light. Screw 'em, no one deserves what I've got! It's my treasure
and those swine shall not receive!

So home it is, the smell of burnt flesh on my jacket and my
finely fashioned jeans. Same pair since I was young, got to fit into
them again since eating is hard. I don't see what the big deal is with
anorexia - let them starve if that's what they want, if they are
broke in the head, well, welcome to the club.

So I wash up and ask myself again where it all leads? If nothing turns me
in to the cosmic police then do it all. Eat them all. Kill them all. Love
them all. Set them free. I am the mercy killer, I am the Christ.

You Have Eluded Me

April you have eluded me.
Slipping from my grasp, Spring,
you disappear again.

It's morning and my mind is wandering.
i smell eggs cooked on flat top
by a man in a white shirt,
his arms covered in the scars of living.

The rustle of dying news print
mixes with the aroma of fresh ink
and black coffee. There is silence.
No one speaks except the waitress
and the errent naval musings of the kithcen staff.

If the sun rose today i did not see it.
Clouds covered the sky as i made my way
into the crowded world.
It looks as though it will rain.

The humidity can be felt through
the windows behind the register
and the particle board booths along the wall.

The sounds of knives scraping butter
onto toasted bread, spoons mixing creamer,
and forks helping the hungry clear their plates,
this is morning as best as i can remember it.

Warmth you have eluded me.
The words of casual conversations reach my ears.
And when the young woman says the
words "shame for last night" i smile slightly.
She can still know shame but it has been long from me.

i count the sugar packets as the rain comes down.
All of the single serving jellies and jams are in order.
They fall into the cosmos as being perfect,
only as i have influenced them.
Their order restored from the drunks
who manipulated them only a couple short hours before i arrived.

Salvation you elude me.
my mind filled with various judgements
and with these i shall be judged.
If it is with my standards
then this day i reside in hell.
"God", i pray in silence, "don't leave me now."

The rain doesn't as much let up
as roll back into the clouds.
The gray world still exists.
The pain wrakcing my body brings me back to attention.
The right side of my face sears with electrcity
and i have to try not to cry in this sacred place of stoicism.
There are no weak people here at 6:23 a.m.

Eyes look nervously towards me,
i reassure myself that killing a diner full
of people won't help me now. i gather myself and all is right.
Gazes go back to the ritual of morning.
The folding of papers and the scrape of the fork.

Destiny you have eluded me.
What should have been and what is are not in line.
i suppose i should be thankful for my low estate.
i am as i slowly turn the engine over
in my 1979 Oldsmobile.
i think about the tip i gave and hope she can use it.

Grumbling, the car rouses to life;
the rain continues to come down on everything,
the good, the bad, the rich and the poor.
i slowly remember i am alive.

The machinist who owned my Delta 88 before me
left it smelling of cigarette smoke and oil.
The smoke has faded to a faint tempered glaze of tobacco,
the oil a reminder that there is hard work in this world.
Elvis haunts my car; in that space between the doors,
upon the faded bench seat, it is always midnight.

Discontenetment you have eluded me.
Gather round you virtues which sustain me, faith and hope.
i breathe deep the rain soaked air coming through
the ventalation system. Nothing is better than today.
Pain, silence, a good breakfast, and an old car,
happiness surrounds me.

I Will Wait For You Too

At night I think of all I've done,
the hearts I've broke,
the ones I've killed out on the plains.
I wonder if they wait at the gates with their
arms open wide, made alive by bullets
that i used to hide.

I'm haunted by the howls and the voices
of the blood on the plow, Cain killed Abel,
but he's got nothing on me now.

The dark floods my bedroom like their
screams and their blood, it fills the whole world -
wide, large, and big as death can be, until
it fades to become only a memory as frightening
as the thing itself - and maybe worse.
The rifle I fired used a smoke that clears,
my mind clears not.

Their eyes hang in my head as though their heaven
can't be real until I come to be with them,
they can't get in until their last breaths are gone -
until the smoke of them clears from my memories.

They reach and they stretch their fingers to me and the sky.
They pant and they die at my feet with sadness;
there is no more home for them except the blessedness beyond.
I have stolen them from their loves, their friends, and brothers.
I am the killer, the sickness, the dementia, the plague, the hate.

In my bed I can not sleep,
I am torn from my peace
and know I have not won the war.
I have done the evil to my brothers
and they wait for me. They know me,
they know what i need, they know the
only cure for the sickness of the heart that I have.
A bullet for freedom, a death for a cure.
Sometimes the darkness just takes hold of me,
who knows when the sunrise will be?

When In Times Of Only Candle Light

It was a perfect storm.
The sun had set so even though
I had seen the earlier clouds there
was no way of measuring the coming rain.

I waited on my roof top for as long as possible,
under a torrent of heart and sky,
the clouds rolling like black fire
with lighting the veins in my eyes.

Back into my bedroom through the
old white window, I lit three candles.
There would be nothing tonight
except the elements. Wax and fire.

The rain began to sound the beauty,
its' fragrance lifting the night
through the still open window,
even now I can still taste the goodness on my lips.

The thunderstorm moved itself
over my skin as Spring's passion,
she kissed without reserve
or care for where I had been.

Raindrops cry from heaven's lovers
weeping their remembrances
when in times of only candle light
they gave themselves over to Love's first desire.

The Day I Threw the Ring Away

My American dream is a selfish one.
A broken heart for a broken son,
a ghost in my past
tells me that I can't leave you.

Angel arms can't hold me now.
I'm a fading fire, the sacred cow,
held above your head
you would love me then leave me to die.

All I ever wanted was to look into your eyes.
Wind and skin, there is no disguise,
I walk too fast
and then I pay the sudden price.

Dirt and fog, dust and blood,
lightning, fear, pain and mud.
If there was ever love
now is the time to make it real.

I Own Him!

Down deep in the cellar I keep the body.

White without sunlight, dirty, unwashed, cold.
Grit crushed in between his teeth, barely kept alive.
His finger nails worn short, torn and broken from
clawing at the door.

I have kept him down there long enough he is forgetting how to talk.
I don't even know if he could make it up here on his own.

Call it what you will. Gross. Perverse. He's Mine.
My experiment in humanity.
What happens to a soul trapped under life.

I hear him at night, scuttling about, shrieking and moaning.
When the neighbors ask I let them see. Why not?
They see one man chained up in my basement
they know not to ask too many questions.

I love him, my man downstairs.
I don't expect many to understand what it takes
to hold and control, to protect.

Maybe it isn't love. Obsession, attachment?
I suppose it doesn't matter exactly what it is.
The body knows with out me it will die.

I own him. I Own him. I Own Him!