Affair with Runner Boy and His Forest

the hit came with a foreboding
sense of perdition.
my body shook invisibly
poked by covert small hands.
something sick, something pleasured
when the smoke
out of that hot gun,
a beam of light
into my mouth and lungs.

out came a green purple breath
and my mouth slacked
with the impossible
“I’ve lost it all, lets go to the south”
I knew. I knew. I knew.
But O how the Mississippi river whispers!
I begin.
And the tumbleweeds
and the armadillos
a mosaic of red pink grey
the wheel track
that forced the spurt
of rose sunrise
on the crystalline dirt,
steam risen
to promote thirst

the newly made friends looked at me
but ignored my
lizard yellow stare.
they chortle on the smoke,
an unflattering interruption
to the september night silence.

she’s got a stone face
slack face
giggle at everything face
half-ass plans
dreamer face.

I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.
but i can ignore the poking hands
the warning looks
the sad old friends
for your devil smile.
i could not resist your filth
the stars behind
your dilated eyes
or the drawl that swished from your tongue
like floating mercury.

we put the gun down
finished the load
and exhaled indecision
to the pines.

Scald This Alabama Love
cursed fortune
that is braided
thick in irony
with a bitter sweet
applied to unmanageable curls.
those born fucked
are perpetually fucked
adding to the braid
with swift hands broken grins
where do we begin
i know you have not missed me,
insistent lover that you are,
leaving me messages
in stars.
lets inhale together miserable tar
dripping with miserable tears
sliding off miserable cheeks
and from above, it was as though in a dream.
the trees were impressive with death
their beauty in orange splendor.
how language has stunted my craft.
i wish to evoke my own despair
in your smiling face
because i can’t handle your happiness today.
sparkle of meteors in velvet dresses
tails the size of whips
punished for punishing its servants.
im not finished i’m not finished
seraphins of myth
lift each arm drooping
lift my spine slouching
lift my mouth frowning
im not finished i’m not finished
i regret
every minute
but i still want you
even with the poison.

Some Alabama Morning
I awoke
with my nostrils expanding
to the steam
of fresh biscuits,
and butter sizzling.
The smoke from cigarettes
was flying high,
a hot fog indoors.

Sleepily we avoided the roar,
coveted that first cup of
watered down coffee,
and hoped our kisses
wouldn’t make us late
to fill our stomachs
with the hot soft food

Tomato gravy in its thick
speckled perfection
lathered the plate
and we sopped our fresh
biscuits in the flour and grease
until the spongy flaky
substance absorbed it all
and fell into crumbles.
We must have licked
the plate
and sucked on our fingers
sloppy and wet
mouths loud and wide
in the feast.

Then it was all calm
and we stared at the peacock,
inhaling our tar
letting the sun bake
our full bellies
and fixing our gaze
at the wall of pine trees.

Call me What I am
call me a dopamine addict.
yeah, I tremble at your touch,
and your skin grazes me high.
We call it love, I call it inertia.
but don’t call me a romantic.
I’m just like you
a dopamine addict.
soft, your whisper in my ear
soft, the pheromones tickling
my nasal passages.
how different is your kiss to a line of cocaine,

and baby, when we are all
insides out
our feet battling neath the crumpled blanket
and our hair is pasty with sweat to our foreheads
and your heart is in my hand,
how naive are we to call the other lover.
don’t you know you are my fix, and likely my overdose?
I’m an animal who makes all the moves
with my hips and crotch
smelling of the sea.
silly we smell of love,
to think.

Let’s reconcile our accepted lies
the thought-hierarchy of morality
and put love on the shelf to dust.
I’ll confess to you
my romance, my pretty words,your perfect sync to me,
it’s a brain illusion.
yeah, ill make you get you high
I’m the needle to your moment, but not the stuff.

You, baby, are your own dopamine factory
so junk up dope up and lie to me that you love me.
I’ll lie back
my head
lolling, mouth open,
lips plump to your dick
and I pump the factory to a start.
Let’s fuck junk.
We must leave the illusion of connection while you see fireworks in the back of your head
and I see fireworks in mine.

Or I can be subtler
hold your hand or kiss your cheek
send that vaccine streaming up the vein
I’ll make your chemicals dance to me.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s