The Squeal of Worn Wheels

aspire for what you admire
and not for what
who you can

to stoke all your fires n’ poke
your bears sleepin’ and pedaling
in circles on broken unicycles
feet worn swollen hot
wheels in crisis-

can’t feel the brake through its
molten metal, dead bus speedin’
round its track, sound’s so
damn loud

he leaves muddy circles cropped
in crispy grass of wasted



Pale Birds of Heather

the pale birds of
haunted heather

have flown the flue for
a tall glass o’ fresh
squeezed water

and palms of pleasure’s balmy coves
somewhere other than home
where trimmed branches
warp in droves,

she fails in freeing clipped wings
time’s sewn into sofa’s

n’ wipes her blue nose on
old starchy cloth she
calls new clothes



A Breeze of Bees

Words based loosely on the song ‘Bloodbuzz Ohio’ by the National.

breeze feels like a swarmin’
storm of bees sent to
spare humanity,

i beg mossy patch on weeds to absorb the
martyrs in each memory detached now
crawling out holes in me left by
unhealed stings,

momentary freeze feels like i’m
on tips of
nerves plucking
pins deep inside for

release from fire’s smokin’ heat as
ambered breeze o’ honey bees
splash over me

to raspy buzz n’ blink
of coke machine.



Night Train (A Whistle through Veins)

varied configurations
of the same concept

still yielding piss n’ salt
enough to mix up
the results

and if i’m known to my few friends for my best
and they just bury the rest, my floating
body still sees no stop nearin’
for broken road’s

i’ll pull the cord, sound the
whistle n’ wait here

leavin’ the rest
to mess with



Tug of War

round here the shiny toys
are shaped like
tiny boys,

but not all boys like their toys
revved and red, or dangling bare-
like girl’s shiny hoop earrings
as trophies ’round a
rubber neck,

cash the check and break the
promise, default on action,
betray self-respect,

expect some frayin’ in
the rope, cause this
tug o’ war ain’t
done yet.



pour a lil' more in there, cowboy.

rush the course and boot
the horse as least ugly
race-day habit,

grab at hands in skies, luke
but use your force only
with gentler purpose,

stopped a buckshot with my scrawny
teeth n’ now i’m stuck sippin’
slow at snow meltin’
as milkshake,

more shivers n’ flake outs than
flexin’ tuff n’ hot stuff

n’ Dan shed his skin like life’s
ne’er been served up rough



Band-Aid Balloon (Dirty Rubber)

i feel so light beneath,
i could write the sky
for river driftin’
by in dreams,

floaty letters bob all round
in soft and loose lip

then in one deep but embellished gasp,
flood o’ words balloon lungs
for boy’s optimal

and for words of hurt, well-
scuffed boot’s covered the
last molehill with dirt,
and feet just left
the station.