exhale

He lies in the field
and counts the buzzards
that circle above,
counts the buzzards
that drive past
in their late-model Fords,
counts the goddamned vultures
awaiting his impending demise,
live, in color,
on KCTV5 News at Nine.

He lies in the field,
a hymn in his head,
two shots in the gut,
awaiting the heavenly light
to wash away the blood,
and failing that,
a good, hard rain.

He hears the dogs,
he hears the chopper,
he hears the police
and their heavy steps,
and the dragnet tightens.

He looks at his now-empty gun,
and lights up a smoke.

Inhale,
exhale.

Inhale,
exhale.

Inhale,
exhale.

He stands up.

He doesn’t
drop
the gun.

Exhale.

the confessor, redux

I told her
I cut the screen
the same night
I kicked in the door
when I lost my keys.

She’ll never trust me,
but she won’t
lie awake
in fear,
as I.

stitches

I’ve had my lower lip

stitched back together five times,

by my count.

Never bite your lip

in a situation

where you might get

punched

in the chin.

the good guy

When I wake up

from a blackout drunk,

covered in dried vomit

and cracked and blackened blood,

I always hope it’s my own,

and to my credit,

it usually is.

 

brick

Poetry is a brick,
from one mouth
to the next.

never again

Please let me in,
I’ve come to see Bonnie;
She won’t take my calls,
I live so far away.

Please let me in,
I’ve come to see Bonnie;
I’ve found me a job,
and I need her to stay.

Please tell her I’m here,
That I’ve put down the bottle;
I’ve cleaned myself up,
God absolved me from sin.

Please let me in,
I’ve come to see Bonnie;
I’m taking her back
to her “Never Again”.