Skin
Born of ignorance, taught to young
Judge the color of a man’s skin
Do not care to know who he is
Never see the person within
Easier to pretend to be all knowing
Pervasive hatred - cancer of the world
Less effort to not work for a cure
Disease passed down from the old
Through our myopic world we feel safe
Never stepping out to take a chance
Our skewed beliefs the only true way
Labeling others with a sideways glance
They Said
See the world, serve your country
The recruiter said
Free health care, meals, and college
The recruiter said
Respect of peers, admiration of others
The recruiter said
Learn to kill, protect the world
The Drill Instructor said
Nothing to it, ooo-rah Chesty !
The Drill Instructor said
Paper targets, that’s all they are
The Drill Instructor said
Keep your head down and eyes open
The squad leader said
The shits hitting the fan, gunner up!
The squad leader said
FUCK! PRESSURE on that wound Marine!
The squad leader said
Dear {Recipient},
I was incredibly saddened to learn of the death of
{the deceased}.
The Letter said.
Wilt
Speak and get head thumped
Try to hide the lumps
Bruises spotted, ignored
just apathetic chumps
Broken arm, fractured sternum
“Hurts me more…” sermon
Protector becomes abuser
me a needful burden
Apologize for misbehaving
Awkwardness raving
Guilty of being a kid
only love craving
Drunken rage, assume his guilt
Fists knock me off tilt
I internalize his rage
Life wilts
wishing Well
Where was doG
before it started that morning.
He works in mysterious ways?
How about a heads up or warning.
Allowing tragedy
demanding prayers for mercy.
As a beaten dog is thankful
when we cease our fury.
Permit to happen
choosing not to intervene?
Or as powerless as we
to prevent the dog’s pain.
Killings because
no God is in schools today?
Extorting protection
He was watching all the way.
Benevolent deity
trust in Him they sell.
Like tossing a penny
into a wishing well.
Words Convoluted
Hardened of contempt, lamented words left unsaid
live and learn, better to have loved they preach
They dispense words but do they ever live and feel
experiencing a minute of what they teach
to live, to exist, ghosts of our past we host
Heir to others pain, raging internal and terminal
unless defecated onto the one who loves most
Taken for granted that will always be there
safety net as always, a heart should be more
Tail wagging awaiting mother Hubbard to tire
of the handsome new face same as the guy before
Convinced to trust and love, all lies of your game
corrupt fusion of words fantasy and true
Twisted words contrived to satiate your guilt
proportion known only to you
doG
I love you.
have a warm bullet.
Popular enough? Better get some prayers.
You might pull through it.
I love you.
kill in my name.
Pray different? They hail me Allah.
Blessed be your aim.
I love you.
your child must die.
Question me? Oh ye of little faith…
Do NOT ask why!
I love you.
i am all knowing.
Evil prevails? I stand idly by .
Hell’s triumph glowing.
I love you.
intolerance rules the day.
Why care? They do look different.
They are evil anyway.
I love you.
one and all the same.
Innocent victim? Aren’t we all…
Pray to me- I know your name.
Paper Targets
Paper target, effigy of life
speck in the glass of my Leupold.
Copper-clad embrace restrained by brass
patiently awaiting lethal release.
Paper targets
all they will ever be.
One click to the right, dope to zero
through the wind my chaos will hold true.
Two days in crawling, omniscient taker of life
fusion with surroundings, never seen.
Agenda detached from conscience.
Paper targets
all I allow myself to see.
Life is precious…yeh, life is Precious…
false construct of idealistic life and lies.
Contrived to satiate the masses’ horror
at the things only other countries do.
Expendable if discovered- disowned
invisible heroes or villains one in the same.
Paper targets
soon silenced.
Intention trapped in the hairs
chamber full of unleashed rage.
Exhale as trigger glides smooth
anger and wrath flame forth.
Vapor trail finds its mark.
Paper target sent to the dark.
resignation
tired
Another day survived, more to go
Many
Years too numerous, scars and senility do show
Slain
When did the living cease, replaced by existing
Albatross
Becoming a burden, discarded utensil, used-up thing
Escape
To finally sleep not again to wake
Obituary
A few lines on the last page will make
Apathy
Invisible
A silent death, as was her life, a hushed leaving
Sickened
The stench of resignation permeates
Alone
Family too busy, other plans they make
Seeking
Regrets lie as heady as her looming death
Wheezing
Carcass hoping her next will be her last breath
Etched
Life and love not to be rewritten
Pursuing
Hell Hounds nearer, she’s not yet been bitten
Wishing
Swiftly they will take her away
Lies
She will be missed by all is what they will say
tofu
Ambiguous blob
Blank soul pasty existence
All things to everyone
is what it is
Poem with no rhymes
Don’t expect too much of it
It’s just a haiku
expletive
Fuck- my favorite word
Not your grandma’s old haiku
Fuck- my favorite word
selective
Blind of the world today
Not seeing by choice not blind
Its not my problem
ennui
No need for b
ullets
Apathetic mannequins
People kill with words
VD
Valentine’s Day God
Relationships Sunday mass
Ten percent given
Love
Don’t try
to fix me I’m
not broken, though the fall
might kill me for a moment I
will fly
breakdown
Don’t cry
for someone who
will not cry for you, for
there is beauty in the breakdown.
Fuck them
perfection
drifting
softly landing,
intrinsic perfection
mid-Winters glistening blossom,
Snowflake
blossom
Life, in
every breath,
each life we touch, here for
but a moment then return to
the stars.
Traces
My scars
Watchtowers of
the past, cautionary
lighthouse for future and of my
present
2 4 6 8 2
castaway.
passion given,
bad decision, blood soaked
love choked dead tissue reminder.
cast away
Busa Porn
Planets wink at me from upstairs reminding me of illumined light-bright pegs randomly plugged into an ebony cosmos. Basking in the sensory overload of warm air peppered with crisp cool pockets giving rise to chicken-skin and shivers up my spine from the soft tickles of nature placing a breathy kiss on my belly. The pungent 110octane TurboBlue offends my nostrils, the cool sensation of a fresh tank permeates my jeans cooling my thighs against the warmth of her engine as she guzzles the dense midnight air with a snort, exhaling with a reverberating snarl from the rubber dusted and oil stained-city street.
Thirteen-hundred cubic centimeters of lecherous pulsation breathing through four radioactive lungs tuned to perfection, injectors forcing dead dinosauria to mingle with fire and atmosphere thrusting the beast forward like that of the space shuttle escaping gravity’s reign. Right-fist full of testosterone-addled temptation, serrated shifters’ imprint grated into my left boot, Kevlar reinforced helmet a bulletproof defense against insect-goo filled projectiles targeting me at triple digit velocities. Moonlight waltzes across a dance floor of flawless silver and white enamel;
The piercing scarlet eye of dangling cyclopic traffic sentinel challenges my ego to leave before the emerald pixels are wholly lit whilst the devastating torque of my two-wheeled missile challenges the fat Bridgestone for traction supremacy. I scan the serene city
backdrop for unsympathetic constables who have absolutely no concept of how to enjoy a fine late-summer evening, leather-clad ticket book at the ready to crush such a fine occasion as this with a citation. My spidey-senses tingle heralding the imminent signal change; throttle cables stretch sweeping the fluorescent orange finger of backlit smiling-face tachometer to the sweet spot orchestrating a calculated tango of traction and acceleration. The fiend becomes violent as rev’s rise, her demure voice angering into a mechanical crescendo of percussion and brass, titanium and alloy; high-octane hydrocarbons singe my nose while a shrieking banshee assails my sensibilities. I stretch my torso over the lowered and strapped front end, adrenaline fueled pump thrashing in my chest bracing for the rush of one hundred and sixty-some pissed off horses, my left thumb anxiously poised to tap the button releasing fifty more when second gear arrives. As the cross-street signal ticks golden, I breathe a hushed count of “one” and with a controlled release of my clinched left fist the miscreant’s clutch feeds the bitch as much as she can take without stepping out. The amber shift-light winks while 70 flashes by on the speedo; I slip the violence-for-pleasure-seeking psychopathic Suzuki into second while fingering the nitrous button and Houston, we have lift-off.
the Abby
The sun is setting. Again. I have lost count of how many times it has set since I have been here – Two? Four? A dozen?? The coyotes –or wolves or whatever they are with their little dog-gang, and fangs, and nappy fur– the whatever’s will be here soon sniffing and nipping as I remain quiet, stiff and unable to move – frozen and lifeless has become my way of life. I realize I have been this way since long before I saw his charming smile… before I lost myself. What I find ironic is that in losing myself I finally know what has been true in my life – and what has been a lie. I see that belief has been nothing more than a wishing well when the devil comes knocking, my faith the coin tossed over my shoulder with dreams attached. His words are the only truth I have heard in such a long time: “relax, it will hurt less if you don’t fight it” he whispered with disarming compassion. And he was right – once I gave in to the pain it really did hurt less…. He was so charming – he told me I was pretty and he made me feel pretty… he said all of the right things – right up til the moment... Even then I felt almost an appreciation for the precision of his art, of his perfecting my beauty as he called it. Pretty fucked up huh.
Wait, what is that? Could it be… yes I think it is… WOOT!… HERE COMES A CAR!! I can hear it rushing up the road! Sounds like one of those annoying little fast-n-furious wanna-be’s with the fart-sound exhaust and stupid wing thingie hooked to the trunk. God I don’t know which is more retarded: the neon green spray-can paintjobs or those boys trying to be gangsta’ with their jeans around their knees.
Ok, here it comes! If I can just… get… their attention… maybe they will find me! HEY!!! OVER HERE!!! HEY…h-h-hey… my heart sinks as the car zooms past in a cloud of dust the occupants too distracted by, well, who the hell really knows? REALLY? What the hell people! Do you not see me?? Though I am not as pretty as I once was I am still a person. Right? It’s ok – just chill Abigail… another will be along soon – But so will darkness. The darkness sucks… so much time to think… but time is all I have now so suck it.
The night is lonely.
Curfew
I stare blankly out the bedroom window, shaken from my stupor
as I notice the first of our two streetlights coming on –
another day is coming to an end. I find myself listening for the
screech of our rusty-hinged screen door, followed by the rattling
BAMM! of the screen-less wooden frame against the peeling door jamb.
I am still expecting, hoping, to hear that shrill voice of a
gangly, too thin and tan eight year old proclaiming
“I’m home and I’m hungry!… what’s for dinner?” –
her sun-bleached hair flowing as she glides by with a grace
betraying her usual awkwardness. Those days are long gone,
far in the past yet as fresh in my present as this morning’s conclusion of
yet another sleepless night. Dusk is stealing in fast ushering yet
another night of despair shrouded in the reapers cloak of darkness;
and as has become the custom of not sleeping.
How many dusks has it been? That was always her curfew – dusk –
if she wasn’t home as the street lights came on there had
better be a damn good reason! I never was too hard on her though,
always more relieved than angry when she got home because
as we all know evil lurks in the shadows only to come out at night!
We are all safe in the light. Eight curfews it has been since… since…
Well… the police claim they have a lead
– a “person of interest” in cryptic police-speak–
but I have to wonder if this is just to placate me,
to pacify the neighborhood and city,
PR words to stroke us all into a sense of hope? A false sense
of hope because I know we shared our last goodbye that
bright Tuesday morning as she drove off in he
r blue Jetta
to morning classes… My little girl, growing up…
That is the last sunshine I have felt.
Darkness is overtaking the dusk and in a perverse way
I find solace in the empty blankness of the night.
I do my best to hold it all together – including myself – but
the not knowing is almost unbearably hard. The freakin’ police know
more than they are telling… of this I am convinced…
why are they not taking to me? Is she dead? Is she alive?
Who has taken my little girl! The detectives tell me to
have hope, to have faith! Faith in what? In the God that I prayed to
on Sunday morning and the occasional Wednesday evening?
The same god that has allowed some bastard to take Abby?
Faith in the police? How is that even possible when
it looks like even THEY are losing hope and interest?
Is it wrong to hope less that she is still alive and
more that she has passed so she is no longer suffering
at the hands of who – or what – ever has taken her?
A father shouldn’t give up… should he?
Badges
Another one… Another girl missing,
add another girls photo to the collection on the wall.
FBI profiler is working hard, far too excited to be
putting his degree to use being Analytical and Critical.
Thanks for the help, we’ll take it from here…
arrogant bastards stepping all over our case.
“M/O matches, it’s our man” big fucking whoop they’re
no closer to solving this then we were months ago.
Analytical and Critical. Reducing her to less than a person
while stealing her life and legacy just as
this maniac has done; in a year she is just another statistic.
Such a pretty face, like the others, another co-ed’s
fate destined to become another number
in a report. Analytical and Critical.
So we will do our “part” and try to comfort the father:
“We’re doing what we can, We’re getting close…”
I will try to keep a straight face as I do.
that Smile