Boys and Snakes

Boy eats snake, grabs a sack of apples from the grocery store and feeds them to a horse. Because horses like apples. Boy stares at his neighbor's mailbox. Mailboxes like spiders, not snakes.

You Were

There once was more to everything. Then you were here, the new kid from Brooklyn. Fishnets and lipstick, vulgarity and grace. Then you were gone.

Rust

Rust crawled over the lattice, poked its fingers underneath the door, put its eye to the keyhole, possessed the constant stream of euthanized ants stomping their way through legions of lead paint cherubs. Rust divined the sterility of the matron saint. Divined the weakness of congealed semen clinging to pubic hair. Rust believes in rust.

simple truth

Today we sat on barstools, looked each other in the eye.

God Bless

Drip, drip, drip, one little drip can't think, can't check my oil. Bop-ba-da-dop, bop-ba-da-dop. Too much for plastic wrap, too much to throw away. Somewhere in the Netherlands a man lays back and cries "Help me! I can not drink this drip, drip, black, rum, coke and bloodshot button up tie." In the afterlife Geronimo walks with both eyes closed. Through pip-pap-tink- tink-tink-pap graves. God bless this Holy soil, this rain.

3

Fertile Imagery

Put a star on the top of your epiphany

casting inverted clouds on the blackened

pouring light upon the bones, blessed in filth

put a sword in the stone of our emotion

play the dog and the snake in the afterlife

play the puppet and the crown of the future

lick the paint off the face of your pantomime

wearing syllables coarse and acrylic

pleasure god in the sight of every star in the night

flush the demons hiding from the shadows

ascend the stigma to the voice of shame

essenic swine trace the path of nothing

cast a drachma to the fish, wait for violence

cast a storm into the eye of the sea

scrape the walls of a fertile imagery

leaving nothing but ghosts of abortion