Is all that’s keeping me
Afloat, while wiping out the
Ashtrays, rinsing out the
Bottles, and ironing out the
Sheets that kept us in a
Muddle.
Lindeman’s Cab Sav Bin: 45
Stains that bed where skins
Were shed and fossils
Lie) petrified (and weeping
To some holy
Genocide,
A childhood crucifixion
Haunts this tired fiction.
Your diction destroys me, deep
In my temple with handfuls
Of curtain/I’m certain of nothing so
Please hold me tight
To the space between
Your thighs lips (a common misconception),
The space wherein I writhe
And twist to the beat
Of your Smith & Wesson,
Pressing
Against that land in my chest that
You and that Goddamn! Sonuvabitch!
Body have floated off to,
“I’ll see you soon!” while you drift
Past that varicose face
In the moon.
To the tune of Sweet Caroline, you
Glimmer and shine and
Oh What A Find! you mined and
You mined this tired quarry,
I’ve seen it before and I know
That you’re sorry.
Sweetly Unhappy People 