{drunken psalm.}

the days are lined immaculate
we speak of the dead
and the traditions there in
having wounded all the love there is
made a bed of straw
made a house of sticks

there were ones for which to bask
to lie in front of vast oceans
bleeding we never knew existed
not at all afraid
no lies were ever spoken
no breath ever distilled

to say so calmly things
that don't matter
i know the ways of your workings
like little clocks
your clever machinery
but we are all a memory eventually
and then forgotten.
don't kid yourself anyway
keep singing
and i'll keep drinking
to the tune
and dreaming.

{too many naps.}

the way we smoke
to excess, and fester
falling short of deliverance faster than ever.


there's nobody here but us ghosts.

go home.
managing monsters,
tagging them like endangered animals
standing at the front door disguised
as small children
selling candy.

{never feel that way again.}

sticky seas of sickly drunks
and the ears are getting hotter
from an illness
with the fevers
that will eat the world alive
dropping dollars like loose letters
when the words won't stay together
when a slimy swollen tongue gets too thick for speaking

and anonymity only still exists
because no one knows the sober
and we are rarely sober.
sometimes somber,
which instances make strangers smell the melancholy odors
so they avoid you like the plague.
similarly to the sun,
everyone eventually gets sick of the rain.

at night, tasting too much,
saying the sentences of shouldn't
these buildings are fake friends
they only want your money
and i liked you better
when i didn't know you
and isn't that always the case

so save the vodka soaked olives for last
because that's all the love you're getting
sodium and sugars
be careful
there's a body burning
for some satisfaction of living
as the lights begin to dim

{sleeping dogs lie.}

crawl into the dark
deep woods far from the pack these
dogs will die alone.