a Long week
tired and straining,
nothing matters outside production
so it seems
and I haven't produced shit
By what right am I tired

Looking for somewhere to lie
I exhaust myself
Like the worn vagrant,
Looking for a library desk to lay his head

The women have all left
The movies have all been watched over and over
and so many freinds are turning out to be frauds

The urge to run is strong
But where would I go
and with what money

I should clean the cage.

Blade of Forgiveness

I walked to the edge of a cliff

looking down I saw a mass of corpses

bodies lying on top of one another

ears in elbows, mouths in arms

Thousands upon thousands of Jagged faces

warped with decay

I knew not to cry

or I too would be in that

Same pile of silvery tissue

My fathers Eyes, My Mothers womb

The morning was cold, I reached into my jacket

And pulled out my flask, guzzling like a cowboy

I set out to find them

Praying between the mouthfuls of whiskey

For the strength needed to carry on

I finished the descent with little hardship

and began what seemed to be an endless search

Holding my breath every second I was able

I made my way through the landscape of corpses

Trying my best to ignore the faces

To forget about the people

I was trudging through

When I found him he was smiling

Mocking my resistance to what he understood as inevitable

His eyes were covered in a yellow film making them unrecognizable

But I knew it was him, by his pronounced forehead and receding line

Two of the traits he had bestowed upon me

I reached for my knife and went to work

With my knees on his hip I drove the dagger

Deep into his chest

Pools of thick black liquid formed around the wound

Making it difficult to find what I was looking for

as I moved gelatin like globs away from the entrance

I saw the head of a tiny figure

It was the face of a child

His One lifeless eye, left open

seemed to stare directly into me

I saw in that crystalized raison a million

Unwon affections and innoscent passions layed to rest

His half parted lips told me stories not yet realized

Of ghost in waiting and the restless spirits within

Bellowing through the chambers of the soul for freedom

Or nothing

A deep breath and 1,2,3

I turned my blade toward the one remaining eye and began to dig

In a moment the organ was in my palm

Oozing out its eternal torture of axle grease and babies milk

I quickly put it to the back of my throat and swallowed

concerning the mercury content in apple juice

It happened one morning while taking a shave
the razor gashed into my pretty white face
I reached for a bandaid and when one was not there
cut of my elbows, skin willing to share
I patched up the gash then picked up the phone
called you for breakfast but you weren't alone
I heard giant roars and angels with trumpets
then asked who the were?
"just over for crumpets"
It struck me as odd but I just let it go
and walked to the kitchen to stub my big toe