facing online screen
my harnessed heart hardens
        harassed collectively

Sticks at five a.m.,
   light limerick; beer-sopped mope,
you might just write one

When all our friends faded away,
We stuck together.
I didn’t think it was okay,
The way they treated you.
Yet, here we are,
Feeling like deja vu,
Wondering why,
I stayed.

I try to be kind,
I try to be nice,
But judging by how you act,
I must be blind.
You make jokes,
And I laugh,
But we both know,
The facts.

I know my place,
So I’ll let you have your way.

I’ll be your punching bag,
What did I do to make you so mad?
I thought friends were supposed to have,
Each other's backs.
Is it bad,
That I like being your punching bag?

When you're desperate,
You take what you can get.
So when I have your attention,
I don’t complain.
Though you may berate me,
I’ll hold my head up high.
Because I’d rather have you,
Then be on my lonesome.

I understand my post,
We both know how this goes.

I’ll be your punching bag,
What did I do to make you so mad?
I thought friends were supposed to have,
Each other's backs.
Is it bad,
That I like being your punching bag?

Is this how friendship works?
You throw your friends to the dirt?

jocular hack of a day
sideways   and flinty with snow
the winds dictate  the true streets of this city
turbine life outside  is in retreat or insurance
sing in the sunny pleasure
let the weather match celebration
beast of spring forgive
our lustless plunder and dumbing
quake us from our numb standard
ferry us

My one regret is the bloodline I derived from
I’m not a pedigree or a monkey’s uncle
My father is a penniless swami
My mother is a peace creep
We live up the river,
near a civil war battle ground
When there is a downwind,
the water has a polluted, toxic smell
A few years ago, I needed a pair of glasses
Never received them,
No insurance, no money!
My mother ***** slapped me a few times,
thinking that would help straighten my eyes out
Now I have short eyes!
****, she’s dumb.
My brother, who is three years younger,
Is a laughing child
Anything someone says, or does, he laughs
Through the years he was whipped, punched, beaten and dragged in the mud by a horse
he’d still get up and laugh
One bizarre thing he still does is hover on the side of the outhouse
He enjoys listening to someone **** or ****
I call him the bathroom slunk
Growing up over here is rough
We have a dead car,
that sits on bricks waiting for a set of tires,
and an engine
The trailer we live in,
is a ramshackle nightmare
Lots of junk and brick-a-brac’s,
decorate this two room trailer
We do breed chickens
Were all chicken lovers
Chicken for lunch, dinner, as a pet and for target practice
Easter Sunday is around the corner
We don’t attend church or get all dressed up
Our Uncle who lives down the river,
Takes his small, dilapidated boat and docks near our place
We call him the pirate, since he has a wooden leg,
and always wears a black eye patch
He’ll bring nothing but himself for our Easter dinner
Overall, I’m a pretty happy kid
In a better world I would just like to have something besides chicken for dinner.

pustules still
on my jawline at
thirty years old

my yawns wretch
my proverbial ***
outta that there

but not before

a cashier girl
has some clue
I'm a loser

an old house &
it's foundation
slow-bombs itself

I'm caught between
me & my version
of you

I'd walk &/or have
2 parked train cars
ready for your
drunk ***—

Your scant scabby lawn
made such a sight but
you're yet to see my bedroom
so I'm free of judgment
see

all clothes a mess or
clean myself up
I will there, sometime
&
that might be that

&
that is too gooey good
for me.

—apparent late spring.
I wish the heart responded
to all that's in bloom.