J swings from the hip
hands high punching through the fear looping hard biting down on cracked blood spattering chin and lip.
The Typer punches back
word for word fighting him on every line giving it all in attack.
J hammering solo so words fall one by one easy
stubbed teeth on sawdust bloody raw all broken for everyone to see
It’s my voice
Gravel cracked
That’s betraying
My fuck’s given
Bored of life
Indifferent wife
Ignoring the strife
Of Zoom’s still life
Half-life
Of meetings, work and reports
I have settled into a
Thundering
Astonishing
Blustering
Bellowing
Butchering
Pandering
Whisper
A firm renowned for bookkeeping
Was revered for financial growth reaping
When indicted for fraud
For practices odd
Investors lost everything weeping
In wicker willow careless flight
You flit below me in the light
I strike a match, set forth the lamp
You butterfly to void the stamp
Of leaden boot weighed down in shame
Forsaking me, my heart, my name
Flight of fancy, gossamer pest
I shall never find my rest
A broken skull of glass shard bone
This never ever was a home
For me, for you, for us
Forgotten
I wanted to memorialize a marriage that ended almost 20 years ago. There was many things wrong with it – on both sides. My behavior, hers – I look back now and see how both of us were to blame. Poorly matched, I am glad to be free. And happy.
The Triangle Shirtwaist Fire
Sent more than 100 seamstresses to the pyre
With bodies stacked high
Bitter cordwood to the sky
Smelled worse than one burning a tire
Bellevue’s ivy on wall
Climbs the windows incredibly tall
With screams through the glass
When you dared rush on past
The lunatics inside want you all
it’s easy to look back at my old pals and remember
there’s billy who ended up wrapped around a telephone pole
and mcconie who got shived on the docks
motier got his when a drug deal went bad
they’ve been dead a long time now so they’re not going anywhere
i’m still ticking wishing that someone cared enough to shiv me or rob me or drive me headfirst through a car window
Mash up the bones and the feet
Goblins enjoy their sweet meat
Pluck the eyes from the head
Don’t worry if they’re dead
The spoils will all taste just as sweet
Outlaw Poetry 