You are so peaceful
when you sleep,
untroubled by worries of me.
I have to speak to you now,
Mamma Is Gone
He was eight when it came for him,
the streets were shimmering,
and he was sucking on an orange pop.
I walk through snow so deepthrough numbing,through needles
I am alone
Wandering, wondering, wrangling,The dark bark callsbranches claw the wind,
There’s this place I know,
straight down from Shitsville, and to the West .
It’s a broilin’ sleez pit,
run by Rocco.
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.
They ask about Cain,
and say ‘fuck Abel.’
Red eyes boiling,
like a pot of crayfish.
It stinks.
I went to the lake today,
the wind was kicking
up waves on the water
like mini oscillations,
I’m a happy song,a bleeding heart,and a hopeless optimist.
I don’t scare easy,and I don’t cry long.
I trust.
The jungle, if you know it,
can tell you more
about a man than anything else.
Stick a man, any man
She was a spinning top,
a whirling dervish,
a blond cliche.
More easy than profound,
