• Space Curtain

    Photo by Aaron Echoes August

    I had been dreaming about loneliness

    Alone in bed, alone in a room

    I looked out the window through the parted space curtains

    The night was unusually bright

    Even though the moon barely hung on its peg

    I lied awake with a thundering heart hard to calm

    Nerves crawling up my spine

    Hammering my mind

    Jitters in a world gone mad

    I recalled how I never fit in

    Even directly after birth

    I was placed in a corner

    To mingle with the shadows on a blue wall

    And it went from there

    Always surrounded it seemed

    Always trying to break free

    From the shackles of the human condition

    Always forced to fit

    Into a place, a space

    I did not belong

    Always forced into the machine

    Headfirst, fear first

    Renditioned to be

    Everything I never wanted to be

    Why do we stunt the growth of artists and creators

    For a lifeless, dead-end “opportunity”

    Enslaved to a system that does not honor the heart and soul

    The grandeur of life replaced by a worthless pursuit in a cube

    The best of us derailed

    To be alone in a world of billions

    Left to find comfort in the veil of a space curtain

    And a smattering of wishing stars.

  • Capitalistic Splatter

    Photo by AR Walther

    The ancestral drift of dinner plates

    5:15 am egg glow

    a smile in a mirror

    old antique wall

    ghost teeth

    a creepy smile

    an old hat in a mist

    a scarecrow in dawn’s early light

    a fake patriot

    cradling a cobalt bomb and a Bible

    in flames

    burnt toast in the air

    poems of debris

    lovelocks swaying

    in an apocalyptic morning breeze

    blonde and braided

    velvet curtain pulls

    at a blood-red opera

    a scarecrow girl

    working the downtown diner grill

    hash browns and hashtags

    do dirt and dreams matter

    in a world of capitalistic splatter

    sore teeth, sore minds

    black welt bubble babies

    skeleton parades

    tears of love in April

    fits of rage in November

    A turkey thrown

    cranberry sauce upturned

    A wet berry bloodbath

    weird Uncle Rage’s screams of agony

    screams of frustration

    close the magical eyes

    multicolored tulips

    under the sun

    it smells like breakfast

    and a woman undone.

  • The Big Dip

    Photo by Aaron Echoes August

    A small airplane poked a hole in the cup of the Big Dipper

    Ran it right through… like a missile kiss

    and all the sauce from the other side of the universe

    creamed the Earth like a big, sexual surprise

    and Matadors on heroin and hot sauce

    slowly sliced open the beef casket

    and it rained light and unbroken love.

  • High On Guard

    Photo by Aaron Echoes August

    there is only time for love and then departure

    everything else in between is nonsense

    even through the trees I see this

    while the world so foolishly spins around out there, down there

    far below this mad altitude where I stand

    where I pray to no one, for no one

    all the listening blinded by blind ambitions

    and the damned ones decide

    that war is better than peace

    that starvation is better than food

    that hate is better than grace and a kiss

    so I turn away and fold myself up

    like a secret

    they can never touch.

  • Lust Light, Dust Mite

    Photo by Aaron Echoes August

    When in the back of your mind you know you are dying

    and you try to push it away … because you are still young

    every breath at night is an elaborate excuse, every morning you arise is a triumph, of some sort

    and daddy is broken

    I feed him pills and artificial limbs

    I am broken God

    yet you piss holy water into my eyes

    you know I hate you

    yet I tremble at the spires

    I am licorice lust

    Man, how they dripped so innocent today

    in that carnival van … it all smelled so sweet, percolating plastic dolls and candy bars

    rumble on, ramble on, to Vegas for a good trip

    where we will smoke Heaven’s lost luggage

    and cough up spirits of unbridled lust

    break my bones against the sandstone

    buy me MuckaLucks baby

    so I can stand the desert sweat and lust

    mobile home whores

    rusting in the dust

    a fair kiss is well enough

    I have shit scattered everywhere

    Like life bleeding out on an Atlas

    muscle roads French kissing barbaric wounds

    from the road, from the tender cradle, from the broken grave

    I am flying through space

    on a comet boiled in a broken heart.