your other

poem, keep

punching

 

the beach

boys’

cover of

you’ve got

to hide

your love

away, plays

over a slow

motion bar

fight in the

back room

of

your mind

as you

read this.

my nose

is

bleeding

as i try to

explain it.

ineffable, 

to rein in

the rain.

 

for all the

good it

does me…

 

before all

this, i could

count my

friends on

one hand.

now, i don’t

need even

that many.

 

three

fingers,

tops.

 

trust

is a

fairy

godmother

i don’t

have. my

pumpkin

is a

pumpkin,

my mice

are

goddamn

vermin,

they do

not sing or

sew me

pretty

dresses.

 

vultures

circle my

few left 

fingers,

full with

the

others.

their

arrogant

flight

taxed with

indifference.

 

i should be

so lucky…

 

i set the

heat just

enough

to keep

the pipes

from

freezing.  

 

teeth like

dice roll

across the

floor of

my public

relations

department.

 

snake eyes

blink a

message in

morse,

something

about

familiar

imagery.

 

i spend

three

months

in the

waiting

room to

find a

corpse

in an

expensive

bed.

 

statler and

waldorf

banter

about my

disposition

in a theater

balcony

around the

corner from

the bar with

the slow

motion fight.

 

euthanize

the wise so

the stupid

can fuck

themselves

silly with no

regards,

until they

see god. 

 

this is

what

it feels

like, or 

as

close

as

i’ll ever

be to

explaining

what it

feels like.

 

or maybe

it’s none

of your

goddamn

business.

 

an ugly

ventriloquist

dummy

carved from

petrified

shit being

fisted by

some

petulant

idiot toddler

for a room

full of

sleeping

assholes.

 

a

revolving

door of

demons

pissing

fear into

my face.

 

i do

not

want

your

pity.

 

i take

as

much

as

i can,

 

and

then,

i take

some

more.

 

and

it

makes

me

happy,

 

or it

doesn’t,

but i

take

it

anyway.

 

when

the

world

 

destroys

you, 

 

relax it

isn’t fair.

 

god

bless

built to

spill.

 

if i hurt

your

feelings,

you

should

have told

me so.