blink and your dead

isn’t that stealing
says the voice in my head

the cadence is off
so are my thoughts–
that hoe over there
caught naught but oughts

double zero she scored
daily double she bet
it all and she lost
–is it time for bed yet?

my rhyme scheme’s absurd
more, too, are my words
and two more will make four
for flight with the birds–

two yellow, too yellow
and too red, two red–
for sex and, forsooth,
to the bushes they fled

irrevocable they sang
next to her window: she heard
over fake moans and fake names
one small little word

a verb, an indictment
adjectively thrown
against her (against me?–
is she not my own?

fake lives we whip up
contain some nugget of truth,
some small piece of us)
while fulfilling her youth

in bed with a boy,-
paying cheaply- but still,
her soul, recompensed,
with ten dollar bills

as green as the leaves
(all leaves must fall)
that surrounded the birds
in coitus enthralled.

and yet, once done,
once come and once gone,
all six, after sex,
beleaguer the dawn–

Hold out, oh ye youth!
Hold tight, to the night
for quickly it goes
with its absence of light

Starve out the day break!
(or break fast while you can)
kill the sun rise
kill the boy, let the man

have your body for little
or, if desperate, maybe less,
and dare not to remember
that deep chill of winter
that comes for us all
that comes for us all
that takes our innocence
that murders and creates
and murders once more, finally


I dare to disturb the universe
and it dare disturb me/
I write down its lies
and, with you, we make three,

three know the past darkness
three know the coming light
three living in betwixt them
within fight or flight

like those little birds
two yellow, too red,
a girl and her boy,
a boy and his bed,

complete with each other
replete with themselves
forget their own lies
become their disguise

and stop the eternal search for just a brief while
and then