holy
thinking it’s cold outside, you took
me to the arsonist, making flames drip
from your eyes, we quiver in the heat,
sedated in your eden
you were holy—giving blessings
from your chipped teeth and
cigarette saintliness
i can see them in your body,
seeds from the prayer beads
you swallowed as you dissolved
the nightmares i carried
my fears have run dry
angel of small death,
i was your follower, still dreaming
when your body could no
longer satiate my hunger
when time began to crack away
at the glow that surrounded you,
i could not hear you speak anymore
i could not open up your wounds
i could not explore the decadence you inherited
requiem
it’s cold, but there is a comfortable silence in the late hours; a lost peace only insomniacs understand. midnight is an apple from the wrong tree, but is eaten because sacrifice is an addiction only we can explain—a ritual lulling our hearts as we appease questions that fill our bellies. nirvana as it lies.
i am driving under broken streetlamps when i see them, local street ninjas uncovered sensually by the headlights in the frozen ohio air. passing good times and nicotine through huddled flesh. they slowly dissolve into darkness of sidewalks, eyes locking, dreams opening doors painted with paths I never wanted to delve in to.
he is only a house away, temptation that rips my personal eden, waiting for us to follow the stars to their graves so we can be reborn. he is a labyrinth my hands grow anxious to explore. tonight he is holy, filled with a decadence i have not yet tasted, and this odyssey can only be made once in a person’s lifetime. we have hated ourselves just long enough to drive into the same black hole of freedom.
i trudge through the snow with an appetite greater than the dope these ninjas sell to each other, trading personal requiems for quick fixes and pale stories. it is not what i desire. in all our dreams we come to know this, and we wait to experience.
i think of you in terms of hysteria
the moon hangs empty tonight
leaving tall buildings
and sharp sins to shelter us
under busted street lights
you lure me closer
lips cinching
tongue plucking teeth
leaving the taste of maraschino cigs
the taste of tobacco with class
my fingers climb the stairway of your back
but you have eaten too many thorns
your stems have grown jagged
i slice my hand trying to get inside you
dance the tango while you make the earth quake
you were obliteration
pulling apart our bodies
yet this is what i crave
dust and debris piling in my throat
the taste of our home crumbling into dissolution
abandonment
you slipped away from me
left your last words on the concrete
they were the shotgun shells
pumped into my gut
the last delirium that will never heal
afflictions
my thirst quaked for your tastes
when the fevers left
i searched for you
inside every crevice made
from the linings of a last breath
we were weak
fingers wandering
final roadways of our bodies
no recovery in our sleep
only erasure as we fall
to our frailty
such is uncertainty
such is time—
eroding our vision
taking all our patience
for each other as we eat of our flesh—
we are hungry creatures
wanting each other to die
so we could meet in the other life
our hands gather at the confessional
arsonist waiting inside
when the fires touch your skin
i could only think
of how lost we will be
when we finally share
our last rites
poison
feet touch cold cement
as the alarm screeches 4am
it rains this morning
barren skies light up
with quick shots of lightning
every few moments
it returns the pulse
to earth
when she is running dry
rain drops slam down
like spilled beads in a thrift shop
all i can hear are the thuds
bouncing my sheet-metal skull
fingers fumble with aspirin
slamming three pills down
i wonder am I poisoning myself?
some nights my head rumbles while i dream
yet dreams are only temporary novacain
even a natural drug like sleep can’t last forever
5am, shower, pop meds
for blood pressure
take a long drag of nicotine
before downing 260mg of caffeine
it keeps me calm
but alert enough to push
through another 9-hour day
starve until lunch
then eat processed garbage
eventually this’ll kill me
but, I can’t be bothered
with death
father corp. needs folks
to man his computers
for piss-poor wages
don’t dare get sick
h.r. can’t handle the paperwork
end of the day
sit in traffic
take another cig
think about a beer
when i get home
it’ll help sleep off
the caffeine intake
before repeating
the process
all over again
to keep the lights on
to be distracted
by cable news
reporting fluff pieces
and political opinions
i’ll never find interesting
before i sleep i imagine
what it would be like
to just drive off
to be nameless
and on the road
but all roads crack
as you awake
roaches
i shudder when i see them on my stove
fluttering wings in the darkness
jutting out erratic spasms
when the lights flush on
there is an infestation somewhere
otherwise they wouldn’t hang around
i killed one on my wall today
slammed the good show into its back
and wriggled it around
white noise scraping
as remains fall
the ceiling drips like bad plumbing
mold will set in soon
and the bank has run dry
these walls are slowly dying
at night i sit in bed suffocating
from the thinning air
this house is taking me with it
struggle is our nature
and we have known
the art of decay all our lives
i cannot save it this time
i am a poor soul
with debtors prepared
to wrap the noose around my neck
and kick the stool from under my feet
the roaches call the shadows home
at night i hear them scurrying in the walls
like rats, they hide to survive
this house is not meant to stand much longer
the root of infection is far from my grasp
i reach out to tend the scrape
s
but I only give quick fixes
that rapidly deteriorate
i wonder if the infection will leave
when the house finally falls
frailty beneath wreckage
when the sun rises
they will come to take the car
they will pull it out onto the street
they will knock on the door
and tell me that the bill is past due
by the afternoon
the lights will be shut off
i will peel poems
from my skin
and mail them to the debtors
for i have nothing else
they are not interested in my begging
there are no more extensions
they say they tried
yet their negotiations
are not flexible
the collectors have finally caught me
their fingers encircle my throat
leaving me without breath
i could pray, but prayer
is only a currency
made of air
it cannot fulfill demands
it can only push back the inevitable
i have nothing
they can take
i am a shell
buried in the back yard
midnight’s starving
i met him on the street
corner, where the world
crashed, and the stars
spun in the lamps; a
mecca of forgotten bus
tickets and too many
starving midnights that
never seem to leave. he
had worked hard for his
sorrow as it spilled onto
the ground, seeping deep
into the roots. the earth
swallowed his words like
holy water, never becoming
fully blessed, only taking them in
like a shot of morphine
right into its heart.
he followed people covered
in deserts, and talked to
ghosts, believing that if he
killed himself enough times they
would answer back. he told me
this, and when he finished it was
as if we had prayed on the same
cliff, but i had lost the ability to believe.
the day i got off the plane
i pulled weeds from my past
and got lost in the bones
that were buried
when they let us off
i fogged up the glass of my body
so you wouldn’t see
slivers of bad gardening
most days, all i do is panic
my hands become seizures
my legs—jitterbugs
then i heard your voice
and i realized
we were perfect
let the healing bleed through
we send our prayers
in hopes the monsters
will remain in the shadows—
when creatures swarm around us
they burn our bridges to heaven
i sent my prayers with you
the morning you were coming home
stuffed them all in a text
and let the words ride
electric currents to you
you said he flashed his penis—
told me about his hands rubbing along your thighs
as open fields swam by the windows
it made your bones tremble
i sat at the other end of the screen
sending more words
through stiff keys
fingerprints etching
into the keyboard
out of anger
my fists could shatter mountains
unscarred knuckles hungered to see teeth
splattered into the wall
instead, they held your hand the car ride home
allowed for stars to form between our fingers—
constellations we use to find each other
because not all things are burned away at dawn
i drew you closer when we got home
held you as a lover should
i wanted to help the healing
bleed through
it takes time for moments to become illusions
the same distance it takes for our fingers
to reach gods lips when we’re desperate
but there is still hope here
and you’re worth every new stitch
etches itself along our path
foreign as it may be
my fingers know
how to return to you
when we’re lost
i still dream of you when the stars are gone
you were the centerfold i stared at in the dark
growing crinkled over time
catching a few rips on the edges
but flesh is only temporary
when i thought about tasting you
the air stood still
my frame grew fragile
hushed breaths squeezed out the thinning of my dreams
as i let you roam around inside me
we were skeletons
playing bass with each other’s veins
waltzing jitterbugs through our blood
this is all we have left
chunks of bone
growing brittle over time
interlude
waiting for our burgers, we stand in the drive-thru at 1am
pale lights flicker underneath barren skies, at the edge
of consciousness you huddle against me, cold hands
linger close to my chest, cars whisper ripe exhaustion
while tired cooks nuke frozen patties between stale
buns—we stand silent against the air, holding our
yawns, wondering what parking lots look like during
the day, weary hands toss brown paper bags through
the window, we walk home listlessly, dreaming
of stars to follow, wondering if this road will end
bouncing prayers off the living
my boyfriend asks me if i have religion,
i tell him i offer prayers to the wind
in hopes of one day growing whole
but being whole isn’t about god
it’s about finding the strength to love yourself
because the bible belt instilled
the fear of angels in your heart
he tells me our beliefs make us people
give us our traditions and the manners
to live with one another
but i have yet to feel human inside
i have yet to feel my heart beat like the next guys
my coworkers ask me if i go to church
i keep my head down
and say no
but my insides feel
like burning scriptures
in the trashcan
but that’s infringing
on their rights
and i’m not human
enough to protest their faith
i bounce poems off skulls
at the poetry show
but poetry isn’t strong enough
to keep the audience awake
they’re fading in the seats,
i tell myself social media is an outlet
until i see the thick skin devils inking
facebook with misguided hatred
towards immigrants and other beliefs
“pray for america because she needs it”
splattered all across the blue and white screen,
but prayers eventually fall through,
the country’s backbone is giving out,
i am tired of religions and your preaching
i can’t look at other people
they’ll pray for me,
the bondage that rages my madness
how many of them h
ave a bullet to give away
before they grow tired of the conversion process?
my boyfriend tells me i should find a god
all i can think of is reimagining myself
there’s beauty in destruction
before you’re reborn
he rests easily nowadays
i’ve forgotten where he mails his prayers
i often dream of what it is like
to simply live without spirits
tagging alongside you
the heavens are not yet full
i slid the ring across your finger the day love was free
held your hand because i knew it was no longer a dream
i remember the woman
who spat on us for holding hands
terror drove her lips
some folks do not understand
what it is to really love
they only speak angel to their wives and husbands
so that you and i can suffer
for the good of our society
the heavens are not yet full
god is not littered with misinterpretations
he is waiting for us to find joy
as we live our vows
gifting ourselves to each other
it will be our hour of god
the hour we say i do, i do, i do...
we wore our affection to dinner
when i came out as gay
i didn’t hang my human self
in the closet
i opened the door
hoping to be normal
you told me—mothers know their children
said you were happy to see the costume
peeled off my skin
i thought for a moment
happiness exists
i felt it
there is a liminality to cracking yourself open—
a brief pause in the mundane cycle
where all our wrongs come back
skies hauled your grief
as i told you
i was marrying a man
you stood in the driveway
a woman of god—reborn
sorrow falling with the rain
when you got in your car
i could see your mask crack
your emotions too provoked
to keep from throbbing
as you left
the weight of a comet
i see you falling from
the stars, affection
incurable, but i could
never hold the weight
of your heart
docile creature, i
look to you, bones
dissolving to dust,
but i am simply
a masochist in
love with sacrifice
you were the affliction
i could not pull out of me
we will grow empty
poison growing inside you
entangling your bones
shooting pain through the weeds
that are cemented to your insides
i want to rip it all from you
but healing is an art
and i am unskilled
when i go to work
i think of how the roads make oceans between us
of how quiet your voice will be
if you shut down
if you dissolve
at night i listen to you sleep
whispers of air tumble from your lips—
the music that breaks the stillness
of early morning hours
i am addicted to your warmth
placing my hand on your shoulder
letting it ride the ebb of your breath
i fear the day it leaves you
the day these whispers stop
while i sleep i call
child of mercy
drip my prayers on your forehead
like ashes
i pull you close to me
we both grasp the abyss—
we both grasp the weakness
of our hearts
ordinary madness
i drink my coffee on saturday mornings
with a new pack of cigs
before the stars fade in the blue
the art of survival is staying intact
while searching for answers
among rubble
these folks will wake soon
walls will bounce
groggy hurricane voices
on top of playfully untrained animals
while the sun rises
i don't want to self-destruct
but i'm teetering the line of stability
my home is built on bitterness
a vigorous taste
that tempts my fingers
into clawing the tastebuds
off my tongue
i am a soul entangled in simple desires
fiddling with resentment
that haunts me
while my past due notices
stack high in the garbage
i want to run
to find shelter
but there's delicacy in breathing
my hands are bound
to ordinary madness
watching the collapse of silence
pile under morning pandemonium
not the only jackal
crawling through i-10 towards alabama
houston rain disturbs the stillness of early morning
needles jab over my arms
we grow constricted
cars forming single lines
ascending with the street lights
you are huddled in the passenger seat
low murmurs of drowsiness escaping
while your mouth sits ajar
they say we are all angels when we sleep
though your halo has never drifted far from your head
i doubt i am that sacred
vaping nicotine to sooth
the tightness of bumpers connecting
using whatever caution
one can have while driving blind
this storm cannot be exorcised
our roads have been destined
to feel her hanger this morning
but this storm is not the only jackal awake
holding your hand
i think of the storms i have created between us
yet the ring on your finger has never wavered
you have always been forgiving of my indiscretions
i wonder if you ever realized you were in love with a demon
or that you would have to live
worrying if there is food in our fridge
i am grief
the cool smoke hanging between us
when the pay is gone and we’re thirsty
how i wish we had months without suffering
but those mistakes are embedded in our past
we are leaving texas
for a few small moments
leaving the past in its place
we will return soon after
maybe we can see the light
on our way back
the stove is going senile—or maybe i am
i set the burner to low
but the stove feels
that cooking with sunshine
will taste better
it fires up bright
in solidarity of the brother
it never knew
and can’t see
under the rain
a low southern thunder crackles
while eggs sizzle
and bacon pops
from the window i watch boulders
floating through water
mind slipping out of sync with time
my husband rattles in the background
but ears grow cotton
as i think of how it would feel
if i swam under the storm
my heart hammers against my flesh
my lungs h
ave forgotten how to take in air
while i walk with dreams
the kitchen has grown a beard of smoke
as i shut the power off the stove
everything charred
you can’t swim with rain
it takes more than a waterfall
to drown successfully
eggs cool
while water
drips through the ceiling
Acknowledgements
a dog from hell was published in the June 2016 edition of Silence is Not an Option by Wicked Banshee Press
afflictions was published in the June 2016 edition of Sick Lit Magazine
bouncing prayers off the living was published in the 2016 Atheist Issue of Crab Fat Magazine
fire was published in the 2016 edition of Boundless by the Rio Grande Valley International Poetry Fest
the heavens are not yet full was published in the September 2015 edition of Intertwined, published by Inspirity and the June 2016 edition of Silence is Not an Option by Wicked Banshee Press
heroin was published in the June 2016 edition of Sick Lit Magazine
holy was published in the 2016 edition of Boundless by the Rio Grande Valley International Poetry Fest
how the stars say fall was published in the October 2015 edition of Syzygy Poetry Journal
how light tastes without direction was published in the May 2016 edition of Nowhere Poetry and Fiction
i still dream of you when the stars are gone was published in the June 2016 edition of Sick Lit Magazine
i think of you in terms of hysteria was published in the June 2016 edition of Sick Lit Magazine
interlude was published in the 2016 edition of Boundless by the Rio Grande Valley International Poetry Fest
midnight’s starving was published in the March 2016 edition of the Yellow Chair Review
purgatory has been published in the 2016 edition of Opus Journal
reaching for the embers was published in the January 2016 edition of Lost in Orange by Earl of Plaid
our last days was published in the 2015 edition of Thirteen Poets, A Poetry Works Anthology
she hung half full above us was published in the Love and Ensuing Madness edition of the Rat’s Ass Review 2016
somewhere was published in the 2015 edition of Thirteen Poets, A Poetry Works Anthology
we are all holy was published in the June 2016 edition of Silence is Not an Option by Wicked Banshee Press
we think we know what snow looks like when it falls was published in the June 2016 edition of Sick Lit Magazine
we will grow empty was published in the April 2016 edition of Di-Verse-City by the Austin International Poetry Fest
the weight of a comet was published in the October 2015 edition of Syzygy Poetry Journal and the 2015 edition of Thirteen Poets, A Poetry Works Anthology
Weasel is a degenerate writer who received his Bachelor of Arts in Literature at the University of Houston-Clear Lake. He currently uses it as scrap paper to fuel his two publishing imprints Weasel Press and Red Ferret Press. Combined they release 10-15 books a year. Weasel has been featured several times on Living Art with Dr. Michael Woodson, 90.1 KPFT, and has made an appearance in a documentary titled Something Out Of Nothing (S.O.O.N.) by Mitchell Dudely. Weasel’s writing has appeared in several online and print journals and anthologies. In September of 2014, he released his first collection of poetry, Ashes to Burn, through Transcendent Zero Press. In April of 2015 he released a novella, Cigarette Burns (Out of Print), through Kool Kids Press, and in May of 2015 Weasel released a poetry collection, The Hell Inside Us (Out of Print), with Earl of Plaid. He is expecting a new novella out through Thurston Howl Publications in 2016. It is titled We Live for Half Moons.
www.poetweasel.com
www.facebook.com/poetweasel
www.twitter.com/systmaticweasel
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends