Welcome to my Poetry Blog, thanks for stopping by
With my
hands around my neck I can sing like an angel
Lazy Sunday
morning
afternoon
evening
laying in bed reading
and you sleeping next to me.
Reading about how Alan Kauffman's
tattoos were protests, truths, and lies all the
same I felt humble for having a coffee table
then I read Jack Micheline and realize,
I'm a fucking whore
if it's really about the words cut em' with
narcotics
and mainline em' to your heart (even if it's not
a straight line)
Let's hotwire my heart bandages falling all
around like a mummified sonnet no need for sugarcoating.
DA Levy
telling me
to go back to my childhood and kick out the
bottom I'm trying to find
my steel toed boots while waiting in line
With steel teeth
you could turn a tin can into a throwing star aim
at one falling for you
have a bloodbath of wounded stars
Perhaps it will make your veins sing a sad song
about going home one you've never heard.
If the music gets louder when you're walking away
it's because tall buildings
intimidate the words on the page
and elevators were never designed to set you free.
