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the repertoire.

People say cruel things now,
Their words are harsh and unfiltered,
cold as steel and ice and salt;
words that exist only to burn
some other human being.
A repertoire of vindication;
crueler, harsher, colder words
that are supposed to prove ones righteousness,
that are supposed to prove ones right to be,
that are supposed to combat the first cycle of viciousness
But it doesn’t.
Instead whatever humanity is left,
if there is any, was any,
is faded just a bit more –
a red wine, coffee stain, grass stain
that gets smaller and dimmer and duller
with each wash,
until it can barely be seen in the brightest of lights.
That’s us now. Them now.
One against the other,
as if we, they, aren’t all in this together.
As if we, they, can escape this planet
in any other way except death.
We all die, sometime or the other,
regardless of whether we have lived happy lives
or sad lives or fulfilled lives.
No matter.
It’s the between that is important.
What they do with themselves now –
to see them so awful and miserable
and not the least defiant –
Not the least willing to listen to their God –
the one who said fear not!
The violence in their words leaves black marks,
like black eyes and bloody noses and dark yellow bruises;
and they mean it so,
to be cruel and harsh and cold.
The repertoire of vindication –
without a sun there is no light
and without a light there is only darkness –
and they are content with the windowless rooms
they have built over the dreams of others.

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fucking ironic.

she dreamed of being the perfect housewife,
with a white picket fence
and cookies in the oven;
neighborhood children coming round
and happy laughter and rising above
that white trash, low class background.
instead what she got was a broke down,
brown and metal fence
and some foodstains on a woodgrain
and 50 extra pounds that made her feel
so fucking small; fucking ironic.
what a disorganized clusterfuck she was,
no amount of education could make her talk pretty
oh but she wanted to – oh how she did.
she dreamed of being elegant and graceful,
and six feet tall and singing lullabyes
to tiny babies swaddeled with love;
so she settled for fur covered sweaters
and slobbery kisses for the nights when
the wounds wouldn’t heal.
she stared in the mirror every day,
and told herself to be stronger than yesterday,
that she was beautiful and brave
and that she could do today; she could do it.
living in a house of cards on the top,
waiting for the wind to blow
for the cards to fall – no trick aces,
no secret plays –
just a little girl dreaming of perfection
that she’ll never get even though
she wants it so bad she can taste it –
but sometimes who you are and
who you want to be are not the same.
she’s never gonna be high class –
just another empty version of
some shitty town’s white trash.

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Stairway of the Macabre

soul. speak.

Quick, let’s build a wall.
Make it a hundred feet high;
better yet, make it two.
Take away their shovels
and ladders and ropes
and while we’re at it,
take what’s left of their
dignity and humanity.
Maybe we can tax the
ever lovin’ shit out of them
while were at it.
Just savages, don’t you know
that’s what they are?
If you put a door,
you better bar it.
Don’t let them out.
Don’t let them in.
They might taint our
hypocrisy with truth.
Guard it with your life,
sacrifice yours so that
they can’t have a better one.
Cover your legalities with
words like boundaries,
so it’ll be easier to ignore
the screams when the cartel comes.
We took away their shovels,
but maybe they can pile the bodies
like a stairway of the macabre.
maybe if enough people die.

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aster.

rise up from the ashes of who you have been.
rise up, i say to you – rise up, rise up again!
let the person you were stay right there –
let it live in the dust of yesterday.
the flames that tried to dwindle you to ash
could never destroy all that you are –
so rise up – lift your bones out of the dirt
present them to the world so white and clean.
never has anyone been so beautiful as you –
you were never so blue as those flames
just a hued aster in some faraway field.

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skeletons.

we all have skeletons in our closets,
with strong bones and socket eyes
that can look straight into your soul.
we all have a door thats locked,
with cannon loaded, gun cocked
in case someone tries to open it.
yes, we do. and you know it.
yes, we do. and you know it.
there are skeletons in our closets,
wearing grandmas sweaters
and little knit socks with bows.
maybe they’ve got belts
around their necks, like the ties
dad gets on fathers day – if hes around.
those bones rattle and creak,
and we know it, yes we do.
we know it, yes we do.
skeletons that can last a lifetime
preserved with the kind of booze
served at frat parties and clubs.
tastes a lot like a yes, no sound.
skeletons like ghosts, follow you
live in every closet you ever had
try on all your favorite dresses
and wears your favorites shoes.
they dress just. like. you.
have the same hair, same eyes.
and we see it, yes we do.
we see it, yes we do.
skeletons sit in the backseat of cars
and watch you in parking lots
they can touch you,
in places you didn’t know you could be touched.
but they’re just bones. just bones.
and bones can be buried,
and bones can turn to dust,
and dust can be wiped away, clean slate.
and we know it, we know it.

 

 

 

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beginning to end.

Horse trailers make me cry and
you can fit a lot of memories in a wheelbarrow.
hello life,
hello life.
A hundred different songs
can feed a hundred thousand souls
In a club, in a car, on a bathroom floor.
Sorrows can drown in a whiskey
no rip currents needed.
hello life,
hello life.
Biscuits and gravy
not a single one can save me
planted southern roots
but they point north and west
and all over this goddamned place.
hello life,
hello life.
Settle in and settle down
but never settle for less than love
Show up, don’t show out
beautiful places and spaces
really weren’t created for that.
hello life,
where have you been?
What does it feel like,
to have your soul crawl out of your skin
What’s it this week?
Meth, crack, pot, heroin?
hello life,
sing to me.
make it the one about life
after death and what comes next
make it about snow and Jesus
and things like Heaven.
hello life,
hello death.