In the Land of Fucked-up-ville

Are fairy tales really what keep

communities happy and


thriving?  That neighbor and his

beautiful wife, they have such a beautiful


home.  Their lawn is always cut.  Good

people.  They party with the neighbors,


in high spirits.  What they don’t know is

that, after the show, he is angry

all the time, at who knows what, and she


locks herself up in a room

with yellow and green walls.


Contention Hymn

You watch as she squats

on the ground, knees to chest


as if she could just fold herself

into nothing, at the very most


something insignificant.  There is

a man there, acting nervous as hell,


but she won’t look at him.  You wonder

why.  A tear streaks the dirt on her face,


as she begins rocking back and forth,

on her feet as her body has accordion-ed to


some sort of tri-folded posture where her

only music can be heard in the hymns of burned


down cathedral’s ash.  He says nothing: watching.

Looking up to the sun, she says, Don’t


fucking worry about me, I ain’t nuthin to look at.

Gallery of Ghosts

There are dismembered parts

of every broken heart, constructed


into a dead museum.  It’s so difficult

to find which soul you’re looking for


there. Daily the exhibit grows, so

even the shadows are framing


some shivering sharred of some shattered

heart.  She was such a slight thing,


in life.  Probably, just a memory of dust

stuck under some glass, now, to spend out


all days trapped in her untouchable

glass coffin.  Lonely as ever.

Sacrificial Lamb

Little, lame, lamb, you know

your soul meaning to man is nothing


more than to be a sacrifice.  Don’t

delude yourself with anything


other than what is.  You have been

brought to the alter so to be bled


out.  No one wants to carry on with you.

It’s time for you to go


offer everything, so some fortune

may find those who need more


from your death than your possession

of life.  Your life is not your own,


and you know this, so don’t dare

those darling little bleats.  They won’t


change that to man and all of their institutions

your only purpose is to be sacrificed.  That is why


you’re here.  The blade traces the soft lines

of your jaw from ear to ear, like a smile


that never could have shone.  The ancient river

Gods of blood will soon all seep out


leaving you an empty carcass

with no meaning left.

Goddess of Grief

She’s never fought for, so she has to learn

on her feet.  Feeling unnoticed is all that


it seems.  She’s not mad you see, rather, she’s sad

that the world put up all that nasty red, red


rope.  Making your life some sad and silly joke.

It’s the yellow police tape, keeping you

in, so you can give witness


to what you witnessed —Standing terrified of what

your eyes just watched, wounded in crossfire.

The paper crumples then falls.  It’s like spending


your lifetime just tryin to get by then there comes someone

who’s eyes show you the time.  Then it is the


bleeding for the beauty of everything from without.