Poem: Sharp and Bright

Sting sweet, bush sticker, you’ve so rarely taught me

anything at all, because you can’t compare to the crusher

of an empty sky, I’ve come regarding you

fondly in a way, as if you were the toys

of adolescence, flippant with a buzz-off

regard, curling my face in reaction to the madness

of all the observable things, particularly stoops

under the open doors, speckled red dots

from life above, laying warnings down

so no one with eyes will overlook, tattoo’s saying

“NEVER GET A TATTOO” in newsprint

capital letters, lower back burning

the sentiment into my flesh, so I won’t forget.

 

Real pain has no homeland, it bites the ass

from two months, years, decades ago, but it is

you, as you are pain, it is both the effect

and the cause, recline on the sizzle seeking comfort

in chaos, a factory explosion spreading

disease all across, plague of genocides,

wisdom detracting distractors, an orange balloon

float farting over pigs and sheep,

listen as they scream a limbless rage,

see from their reaction how it’s best not to

listen to the negative, instead just open

your heart, let the sun burn in

because bursting is better than starving,

Poem: Sharp and Bright

Poem: Box the Turtle

I am invincible,

at a starter pistol I tuck my head and hunker,

I’m scared of nothing,

I can’t even hear the footsteps of my enemies,

but they’re out there,

from here I can sense foolish and lame vitreous,

they can’t cut me,

I sense the fear behind their bulky sunglasses,

they’re just jealous,

from outside my walls they smell smoking meats,

they must be cold,

likely their fingers bleed clawing at bare brick,

I would let them in,

then they’d see blank journals and empty bottles,

and know the truth,

that behind the curtain there is nothing at all.

 

Poem: Box the Turtle