***** is the only language I know
Burning brightens anguish that grows
Like the blinding light the sun shows
A star providing life
While simultaneously burning me
As I dream of turning free
Floating here I sail a sea
Of words that hurt
And kick up dirt
Of actions that keep stacking
Of factions that keep attacking
Of agency that I'm lacking
To change any of these things
Or the sorrow they bring

The sun's assault through trees
Scorches the dirt off of me
In a world on fire
Incinerators are the cleanest places
In a hateful empire
Interpreters are unwelcome faces
And we continue to count the paces
Until we master mudslides
And we continue to erase the traces
Of our humanity under dirt

We live in this sandstorm
Brought by man's scorn
We attempt to grow corn
But the dusty fields remain barren
When the sun that used to activate photosynthesis
Now burns all the young seeds to a crisp
The seeds are now manufactured
As people wait for the rapture
Unable to see salvation starts here on Earth
And it starts with us cleaning up dirt

Layers of mud and dirt,
Fill homes water commandeered;
Human lives eclipsed!

She had eyes like a crater,
Innocent as any girl could be.
I think she had some bruises when I met her,
But it never seemed to deter me.

I chased her like a dog chasing tails,
Was only then I started to notice her ***** nails.
And then those Yellow eyes,
Blue and Yellow never look pretty to my mind.

She belled me with croaky breathes of air,
I rushed to her house shook and scared.
She was slumped against a wall with the choker she used to wear,
Strapped around her arm and specks of ***** in her hair.

She's got track marks like a craters,
Darkness lay dormant in her soul.
A once natural and elegant Beau,
Now alone in the world of ****** and Blow.

Sometimes I feel incomplete, as if my two hands clasped aren't enough to hold,
As if my body heat needs to be supplemented somehow, or encouraged;
I don't feel enough pressure on my skin throughout the day, and though I'm not six years old,
I decide to touch everything I see, everyone, so we aren't all discouraged.

I only know my position of mind, any other I've barely grazed through,
Since I was born and raised with this head, my mind has developed it's own ways...
But I'll always glance over, when I'm not being beheld, to take a look at you,
And study your habits, expressions, even your name, until my focus is swayed.

And this is what I do with myself, how I fill up my time and my brain.
I daydream with my head down and refuse to see the sun,
The blinding light doesn't see me as an herb, but simply something to drain.
Burn my eyes with your excellence, your independence has won,

And I, laying face down in the soil, feel your burning influence upon my back.
Swelter my skin, I don't have to ask. Are you who I want to be?
An unstoppable force in someone's sky that can both comfort and attack?
Is that what I'll have? A sun of a man to hold? One who both loves and harms me?

However, it may be my own fault, as the harm is inevitable here,
Staying out without protecting myself from the ball of light in the sky.
The earth against my forehead is cool and rich, making my head clear,
It takes each whimper, each tear that falls, and absorbs every cry.

I bury my face into the dirt, squeezing my eyes shut so tight,
I taste the sediment, the clay, the plant remains, but I don't mind.
It feels just fine. Cool on my skin, dark and soft, it feels just right.
So much so that I forget about the sun that looms right behind.

Thanks for the drop
So Seemingly accidental
Kicked like a pebble along this gravel-road time line

I turn and glance a mirror
How introspective.

My ***** cragged shell
My thoughts tainted by my odious flesh
Mississippi catfish have seen better days

I can only swim backward if I’ve  finally seen the danger
And the warning signs come a flooding
Crawdads taught me well.

A clam diving headlong into the sludge
Detritus never felt so comforting

Sand in my eyes
Sand in my eyes
Exfoliate your corneas boy!

Rotten fruit never tasted so good
Spoiled milk and flies
A dog to its own *****

Thanks for the shock collar
The pound
The castration
Hand that feeds
How sweet and tender-hearted
You cherish your convenience

I am a cursed man
Born dead
Alive and dead once again
As time is slowly ticking

I gasp for air
Salt water
Light to relieve me of crippling water pressure
It’s too dark down here

Why is the end of the tunnel above the surface?
I can’t breathe up there

Throw me a line
Yank me away
To an abrasive serenity at the hand of a fisherman in the kitchen sink

A plastic ring will do nicely
Might as well sink and feed my brothers
Might as well think to myself
Rather than lead others

Might as well smudge my words so that no one can read what I wrote
With the needle in my side

My thorns are innate
Yet I wield them as stripes
My fillet is laid
Across the plate at the last supper

My time as a bottom feeder is through

How do you tell if she’s a lady,
When she’s turning eighty five?
She doesn’t wear much jewelry
No furs or fancy styles.

She doesn’t play croquet,
But likes to root instead through dirt.
Her uniform’s a crumpled hat,
Old shoes and a muddy shirt.

You can find her on any sunny day,
Outside in all weather,
Stacking stone and hauling hay.
Collecting white stones & robin feathers.

But don’t dare swear or she’ll object!
Don’t watch **** TV or
She’ll tell you what to do instead:
“Rake some leaves or sweep this floor!”


She might strike you as old Rose Sayer,
Prim, proper and cold.
And to God each night she’ll say a prayer,
“Jesus please, don’t let me get old!”

Dedicated to Mom, Who Believes in Living Forever