Tracing every step it took

the life, the dying notion 

seeing my breath, feeling warm hearted

where will you go my brothers?

will I see your faces in boxes?

will I see your faces crying?

let us make landmarks 

let us make love with tender words

let us imagine agony 

are we dreaming,

or sitting on the clocks of time?

holy Joseph, holy Christopher

you have been searching between Earth’s cracks for answers to riddles

you are making sweet angel sounds,

protesting hibernation 

I see it

every blown down tree

every flap of every wing

every creature’s last breath 

creating a man’s fearful stand

and loving who I am

Shapes are begging to breathe 

Current loves, long lost loves, dead loves

Single bodies fighting for unreasonable, false passion

I will bring will, save galaxies and then smirk at boys’ insecurities

I have passed through holes of souls and found dense hearts

They wish to burn the queers over the fire and call them flaming fags

I am queer and ladies dance like the natives for me

they kiss and touch, but I have given all to nothing

Pound your fist, bricks, or dicks on me 

For all you see is a shamed face

For loose leaf chest centers 

Since your love is never current, long, or dead

it boast, it conditions, and envies 

While I will give my all for four days of smiles

All is her’s, and I place it to the shaved blades for her to feast 

Which is faulted towards past lover’s mistakes

and if it breaks I will find simple harmony

Experimenting

Oh, tie your tongue

left side, right side, four leaves

lie. lie. lie. lie. lie. lie. lie. lie.

procreate your knowledge 

staple your eye lids shut, you pretty little number

dance dance dance until 9 o’clock 

water rushing down the sides of your mouth

pinch yourself, you are drifting through 

Ireland’s greens, Jack’s frost, and childhood memories

tell me you love me

count to three

‘one two three’

highlight this:

I have fallen in love with the world

in forty-five seconds time

I have thought about rape and murder 

I have thought about men and dogs

I idealize the idea of being stuck in time 

or dying of a cruel accident

I wave to people I don’t know 

and kiss the ones I do

I have shared secrets and stories to a single person that I haven’t yet met

and I have fallen in love with the world

in forty-five seconds time

Cold Feet Disease

I am touching you

inappropriately licking your skin

on this hill top that no one can see

Saturn’s rings are punishing me

for loving you

girls’ skin melts off the bone 

staining boiled blood in some time traveler’s eyes 

father’s body is rotting away and all the remains is 

being lit for classy Brits and horny war heroes

three musketeers are dying off from some cold feet disease 

While God is adopting a bum on a cross to make a point

you are undressing, and I am pressing my luck

making tingles from touch to touch

and I am feeling pretty

we are singing melodic tones

we are fucking

in beds, on cotton, 

while creators applause  

but Billy’s stuck in time

through doors, sheets, and sleep

being unimpressed of life

and loosing faith in death

so it goes

Dying Nostalgia

Witness this clothes line, hanging every idea I had growing up

making black birds dance with my hand claps

testing my lungs, singing Silverstein songs

and I am hopping on rubber that still scares my brother’s face

teacher, leave me be

I am the devil’s son 

realistic words, genuine and pure

when all you can say is, “I hope you are at peace”

peace, something simple when defined 

but we’re all reading lies from electronics and organs  

then rubbing ash on our heads as an excuse

while, all I see is Christ getting off

to the sounds of lambs breading

so, that child with the hair due

that will fill your stomach full of soup and cereal is dead

the swing set, built on wood and chains is dead

the pine tree we climbed, getting stuck at the top is dead

Sandy, the precious pretty girl is dead

old man barker, swaying on the rocker is dead

appleton road is dead

because a different decade has arrived

and I can’t stand still on this time

BB pt II

And if I were to decide to leave words and fall in love

how would my melodies and songs feel for wasting their time

to dance in hallways and leave landmarks of memories in snow

how would my delicate crooked hands deal with letting go

to walk up to a sentimental girl and touch her glass cheeks

would I be nervous to break every line it took to make

because she is perfect, and I am frighten

would it be fair to gift her my eyes

that see pain, farms, and blood stains

just to show her I am real and I am mad

for there are four states that state I am blind

but each word I give to you I will stand by them

creating greater bridges to walk across land

for there is no time to waste

before you or him or I know it

I will hold something real and be sending it back

with no wish of blood for once

because I am not ashamed of caring for your name this time

for loving something bigger than me and my words

this is something I will never give back

or share or celebrate 

fantasies and hand shakes

I will spend our time covered in arms

and never have you out of sight. 

Cold Turkey Blues

I am still hearing sighs from neighborhood dogs

singing some cold turkey blues 

and it has become tougher to sleep

drunk a night or seven a week

counting down each day until days become newspaper articles and deja vu  

bleeding through nostrils, hands, or mouth

petting brows

eyes are glued to mirrors and reflections 

spotting receding hairlines and wrinkles on my head

while waiting for twenty-one

lsd playing some casualty of birth 

running from cars and stealing cops

careers, rearing cars 

and the dead sheep is keeping me warm tonight

brother baby son follow some old families love of guns

and cut your fat in half 

foamy mouths on mountain tops 

seizing seizures

die, dying, dead

dreaming, waking, being

crying, fucking, blowing

mother was beat in the head

mother was loving men

I am teasing time

closing my eyes waiting for the sound of a train

or swinging on swings, kicking the trees

fall in love

find a hobby or fear

I am sorry your funeral will never be on my mind

dead or alive, I will be kissing your no lip upper lip and loosing track of time

Ta-Da

I’ve been waiting for voices 

to show me historical change

to teach me ying and yang 

I am being patient.

I am still waiting. 

Still, death has a nice ring to it,

like Methodist bells

that make my ears bleed.

My mind is twisted

torturing my own sexy body

and yet I still lay in bed

expecting some babe to show me their chest 

and yet my playful thoughts

playfully tell her things 

and I am as happy as can be.

I am holding my breath

for there are only 6 weeks left

and I am turning blue

like the island sky I met

with a half sincere smile. 

Because I already met love

with trees, and mountain tops.

With friends and sweat

that ruins my hair due.

There is nothing left,

the last cigarette wasn’t the best.

So, I am still waiting

and death bell’s are playing me a sweet tune.

Stress

Your fingernails are scraping my sheets!

bleak, raw veins, they shriek 

causing my insignificant blood stream to change colors significantly 

and I am still beating off, right on cue,

thumping, ticking, pounding like a heart’s beat

electric chair, pepper formed diamonds attracted to my hazel like sight 

trying to remember memories that were never there

Ugly madman, you are fucking seaman

and the babies are blue

blue like the washed up solider men pissing their pants

the calender is burning the offices of the nation

proud colors, we sing of red white and blue 

and the yellow coward is fingering the cheap dollar store brand doll

while caressing my chest, playing some sweet radio tune

swagger walks the streets of disbelief

still relieving pain from these courtroom cunts

expanding, like the burnt froth I grease down my throat 

listening to story tellers and god spellers 

babbling like some redundant column of an angst love

seeing my thoughts as well as the tickle sensation 

of brother john’s touch

because it’s easier to laugh

and damn you for that

for not reading my words

thinking I am building electric factories

and not bleeding on paper.

I am still dancing for you

and you boy, won’t even bash an eye lash