Halting Interruptions

The cold

The quiet cold

And the whispering rain

Melting snow and thoughts

Evaporating like everything else


Indecent Exposure

I cannot get the taste

of some imaginary poison

out of my mouth

my head will implode,

that much is for sure

sperm in flames

eggs encased in concrete

this story will remain untold

for each letter betrays one another

there is no worth in poetry


my life is merely

another poorly-made reconstruction


A Rotting Hand Still Grasps

I am as weak as this animal

The jaws of perpetual blackness clamp down on her skull

Breathing is no longer taken for granted

When each gasp is as deliberate as the last

Our common denominator, death-

As relevant as any thought that has ever passed

Quaint relics leaning on wooden arms

Teenybopper magazines forcing me to wander the streets

Her limbs will never fade away