Wolf Wind

All this way the wind blows out my mouth
Whistling mad through my teeth
An outward gust from the pit of my gut
It's been whipping up inside
Along with my hunger for pigs and houses
A plump pink thing with no sense for
Reckoning
How his or her home might be my end
I can't exist with pigs for friends
They eat and eat and eat
Until there's nothing but them
Is that what it means to be happily ever after?
Pigs forever

War of the Words (Poem Four)

What a monster my vocal chords

A sentence screamed like a soaring battle axe

At a man who threatened my existence

If I don't keep them tamed

I might say something so useless

Monster enemies will gobble me up effortless

I think I'll stop speaking

Am honorary verbal suicide

For now I'll just write

Words so redundant and trite the ink flops dead

Like a soldier on a battlefield between lines

Every form of communication feels like war zone

Where verbs, adjectives, and nouns are deployed

Little atom bombs in the air

I feel my fingers itching for a pen

I'll stab every last one of them

But speech and script descend and despair my ideas

Like modern technology

No

I'm just too rusty

A saber rotting in its sheath

Shrapnel slinging ideologies!

Bullet flowing oratories!

I'm cutting off my ears and tongue tomorrow

And absorbing the last rounds of your stupidity today

My final wounds on my final day

Scars to show what a monster you are

Oh dear...there go my words again

Bombs away!

The Hat (Poem Three)

The Hat sat snug upon the Head
Like a tired friend.
A black fabric buddy
Who’d seen everybody the Head had
Seen and been on every journey
The head had been.
Recently the hair of the Head
Had thinned.
The Hat was feeling more and more
Of the Head’s skin.
It irked the Hat to rub the Head’s flesh
Like that
But the Head needed the Hat
And the Hat needed the Head
Both thought that they would rather
Be naked
And empty
Than separate.

Digging Windows -A Poem on "Tunnels" (Poem Two)

An ear to the wall of sound,
I found in my headphones
And somewhere in my soul,
Lovers digging tunnels
And running away from home

I’ll be a mole for their music,
Scooping notes by the shovelful
Of melodic lust that busts
My eardrums and thrusts through
Every orifice I possess,

Yes this is my escape.
The snare drum and string rush
Harmonies loud than hushed.
A Win for a Regine
And both of them just for me.

Windows are being made daily
In a hundred different graveyards
And numerous neighborhoods
Windows in the ground and on
Rooftops where singers sit whistling

I’ll dig them all out
In you, in them, in death and in bed
I’ll be visiting.

Thoughts On My Cousin's Funeral (Poem One)

Healthy Hellos.
God awful Goodbyes.

Rows and Rows and Rows of eyes,

All peering over the wooden sunset of a coffin
To see a mannequin
represent my cousin,
I don't remember him
Purple
But I see him prayerfully slumped at the ledge's foot
Like an honest Christian
Dear Christian.

An accidental bird for 120 feet
Forgot he didn't have wings
Poor thing.

It is amazing how they say his name
But never mention his flesh

Give it up for Jesus.

He put my grief in his all encompassing pocket
Before I could play with it.

Religion,
You take
But I swear to God you never give.

A letter read by your brother
I'll never forget
Can you forgive?
A brother who loved you alive
But loves a book now you're dead.

Oh Christian,
Your mall window head
Made to display what's left.
Your images should not accompany this plastic
remake.
The images kill the fake,

They cut your corpse to pieces.

Your sister
That blonde twig
Trying to be a tree in the company she's in.

Oh God let her be!

I nearly wept when she greeted me.

Healthy Hello to her,
God awful Goodbye to her too.

I want to kill all the Goodbyes,

But there will always be funerals,

And Rows and Rows and Rows of eyes.