groups of crows spit on heads taped down into conformance,
yesterday’s toilet paper-todays water supply. a scarce diuretic
covers sinner pores, pinafores decked out,
watch old soccer teams play with pellet scores,
in places, in phases, we heard it all before.
Massacres have policy encores, clever phrase and raised voice,
cancel each over.
Every time the madam ventured out of bed,
she nailed the next cross to her head.
my virtues to bear, are mine alone, she said
foreskin and shame cavort. circling bedfellows.
the saints of womankind open a new seminar door,
second timers all, plying second eleven scores,
beautiful eyes alone, open lying doors.
The river runs frothing at mouths with meaningless timbre,
replete with expletives roving down its spine.
holding on to warnings bequeathed in hesitance,
Flash floods in the mind. Rubbing off
Levantine hues of disgruntled hold all-emoticons
carving perfect breasts-yours-in the sand.
drying slivers of runny aches in never ending ebb look up — there’s a couple whose highlight would be 35 years of bend.
Broken towels, dirty twigs, wretched ablutions,
Brushing past want under burnt out bridges,
we try. We try. Bunding our love; damming the hate.
Long Way Down
white membranes concoct old-new playpens,
where territories of mutually holy reclamation outdo one another
in hypocritical garbage, hidden across
binges of dissipation, sodden wet
spider webs tied to ankles, weigh graves.
blanket frigid stones tabulate children dispossessed,
violated as masquerade, behind razor blades
lining the creases on your face. violated desert creepage
rusted out in self donned camouflage.
body bags in queue,
cowards, whose tongues wring each emotion out
of frontier speak, your centerspread nudes advertise
with land mines on cue.
The next child watches bike tracks being filmed,
ten steps from vultures hovering around,
endless garbage bins.