thirty summer

carving words out of willows

Where am I?

Crawling through
the shit again.
Heart blackness
like black body
without absoption.
A science of sorts
of depression.
Where am I?
There is no God
where I am heading


Down and out

I sit here and think
to myself
I can’t do this.
I can’t go back to this.
I can’t crawl back inside.

The hardest thing is
to face the sun
and smile manically at it

as if,

everything will be alright.

It’s not getting there
that hurts
but the falling
down the darkening
that fills an empty vessel
with rats and pain.

I am an empty vessel
a veil of solitude
and a bastard
drunk on cheap stock-card
cut-out false-eyelash realities.

Fishnet legs
and vague swells of
smug snears
and would-be queers

down and out
in Texas;
the home of the swine.


Innocence gone long ago
now only empty shell
bludgeoning words
inside walls prison like mind.
Nothing is right anymore.
Eyes like a cancer
creep across the bedroom
as the sun bloodies the morning.
Nothing is right anymore.
Tightening of chest
jaw goes numb
eyes burn like ashes on a cigarette.
Nothing is right anymore.
It sets in
twists like a serpent
and calls to me…