I walk through snow so deepthrough numbing,through needles
I am alone
Wandering, wondering, wrangling,The dark bark callsbranches claw the wind,
Mamma Is Gone
He was eight when it came for him,
the streets were shimmering,
and he was sucking on an orange pop.
The jungle, if you know it,
can tell you more
about a man than anything else.
Stick a man, any man
They ask about Cain,
and say ‘fuck Abel.’
Red eyes boiling,
like a pot of crayfish.
It stinks.
They call him a “John”
or a “mark” or a “willy.”
A “happy man”, or sometimes a “salty dog.”
But he’s the money man.
I went to the lake today,
the wind was kicking
up waves on the water
like mini oscillations,
There’s this place I know,
straight down from Shitsville, and to the West .
It’s a broilin’ sleez pit,
run by Rocco.
You are so peaceful
when you sleep,
untroubled by worries of me.
I have to speak to you now,
