Atomic and spice

it's a half life
and wondering
about cloud

shapes and heat
homeless men and cigarettes

like firecrackers and half dead lighters
like fingers cracking and no end
gambling like Miss Atomic says

just glad to be glowing
in appreciation of the energy

the strange shapes and forms
the mountains limiting our line

out to the end of the valley
Paradise and old trees

hard streets that try tires and make
me think of cheap wonders

the behind the scenes life
is blisters and long hours

the cost of making dreams is
bad backs
and unsure Saviors

meet me by the praying Mantis
and duck beneath the fire
and make electric what was primal

there is one reason i am alive this evening.

you could liken it to a clock ticking.
you could say it, no one was listening.

it comes down to indifference-

but fuck it,

my knives are dull
and my prescriptions empty.

the pain is all back pain.
the brain is pleased with
thinking
thinking
thinking

Creamy

she brandished boobs and

half open eyes equally

wondered about

age

she licked me

she liked looking

I called her butterscotch

and she wanted

to swallow me

Crossed legs and sweating

"I hope you get everything you wanted, boy,
hope you conquer the world 
and turn it into your toy,
but don't come crying 
when you learn the truth..."

he twisted his fist
and stretched my nipples.
his lips sharply cornered
and teeth purpled.

the hint of blood dripping,

terror and suggestions,
I feel like his breakfast.

should I be sharing this
or hiding my shame and my
ugly desires?



my breakfast is porn and
crossed legs
and sweating
and cumming alone
and ignoring women
and not eating
and thinking

this needs to end
and this
feels good
and maybe I should respond...

but I didn't.

I just did the ooohing and the aahing
because I didn't know any of the real words.

Down a little bit

young and sad
which you are not supposed to be
while still angry and awkward
like most are mostly

watching how other things fly



the broken bottle
breaks against your brittle walls

each shard spitting light


perhaps meaning
you might bleed and
find
some
fucking
release

thinking this
singing

try it again
try it again
try it again

he's got a bug in his eye

he's not weeping

without shadow

I see that wave
of her hair and
think
Winter is still there
in her eyes I
believe
we have never met
and she is the love
she is the dark drain
the spark
she echoes
across time and
an Ocean away she
writes to me
wondering what ifs and
whens
I wonder
what would I not sacrifice
for this woman
my Diana

and you make me

nice cold opening
of a clipped quirky song

an Irish backbone
informs a Northwestern sense

a little beer hall
a little polka

an accordion
that seems Southern
and Southwestern

praising the moment like a prayer
and a sudden ending

that's soulful 
sweet

with her sexy throaty voice
that feels fleshy 
electric

telling you she's a woman that wants to 
love love love you

she would like to 
tango

singing of bones

glam bounce
and 80's 
art 
pop
and one metal rimmed finish

leads to a sea shanty chorus
then strum strum 

you sing

a familiar female part
in this

girl

group

dessert
indie
pop

at the prom

pass out

belly

this fucking song 
creeps up
on me

with the Angel Of Harlem horns

the tweaked distant voice

the open chords of the twelve strings strong

the celestial slide of the trombone

the crap tinny 
one room 
sound 

at the end

the bit with the improvising horns

I'm not sure what the story of this song
is but I am sure there is one