on some private dicks desk shuffling the papers
waxing on, waxing off, cleaning the mirror
hoping to find a bit of truth in both
II.
donning your sandpaper cape for a dirty day in the field
quietly keeping our rogue boats afloat
bottling our noses at those who benefit most
from your semi-super-scabby-nape
too humble to push
too proud to lean
a resilient string bean
a hard working head down picking us up beyond our town
kind a guy
III.
elsewhere walking the plank with the heckling Yo Ho's of heartless hearties
heel to toe...one by one. Â Is it true? I'd like to know.
some of us are tethered too tight to feel our right
back pocket, our crumbled napkin, our messy meal
thwacking the drink becalmed to reveal
an "I love you" scrawled in the fold
a red-lipped seal send off
Dear, Steadfast Abyss,
I.O.U.
  this sadness will come for us
And everyone we hold dear
will be doubled down and chummed up
all alone in the deep end
the best and worst, at once, Â at last
our raw deal magnified
IV.
holed up in royal blue tights on the verge of running
ankled frozen in broad day light
drunk dumping in a high dome pastry box
a stalwart knight perched atop a midwinters cinderblock
just around the corner from my favorite coffee shop parking lot
a speck. a spurt! a splat@
the vernacular stench from the human asshole
making its way toward a lovely looking woman on the bench
staring at his dick whilst Pollocking his socks
a familiar inside voice keeps his mind on the fence
in a life, no longer egg shell white, in need of a wipe
just desperate, desolate, drugged, and drenched in shit
a creative sign may snag a couple bucks
hoping to squirrel through the day
only to robin through the night
V.
yet a better vetting of his love for a man moth
must stop ignoring the crackling chances, the few winged get
fluming into his fluttering heart, grasping the gist of it to feed on
all or nothing at random in love with a bright light hidden in darkness
dowsed in gas n lit, peppering the earth with his brittle blanket
crumbling toward a covered corner to dune up
and down knees, now hip, a little elbow, all shoulder, dome to the ground
an ash-ward bound swoon to the moon
VI.
the pink triangle falsettos with or without you
and only the most bittersweet bonkers dig cherries at stake
sandpapering the hinges on her hot box
keeping Kevin Costner in a plastic bag
I can be a scary guy when it comes to choosing the color of paint for a kitchen
we all have our own way of finding our own way out
of a sadness to compare nowhere
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