Let The Flood Swell

Let the Flood Swell
Oil on Canvas
36x36 inches, 2010
The Suns That Sank Below

jacket on,
you're warm.
if only you could be so lucky,
you don't realize how much you pee on yourself until you do it with your pants off,
you may feel the warmth on your knuckles
but your skin is not made of towels,
jacket off

We Have Been Told

we have been told,
that we are the wrinkles in the pillows,
and that we stand by at the best
and at the worst
of everything

a phone call can mean much more than you will ever know
more than one, is love

we may meet one day

we won’t hold hands
or slow dance

But instead we will sleep with sweatshirts on

Spit, Spit

she’s as honest as the dip from my lip, spit spit

yes, the mountains of her clutter reach floor to ceiling which writhe with the stench and the remnants of her mother’s streamlined habits,
how could she ever think it was going to be fine while the contents spew bottom up without consent and reach the fresh paint of the park bench

here is your fucking check, here are your fucking pants, spit

Let Go, Let Go

And I begin to inhale as my eyes droop like sausages in the wind, as my temples tremble like hypothermia and first date knees,

my nose drips with contempt,
my nails, bloody murder with coins as my cuticles scrape the sandpaper tabletop.
must they bicker screech why screech why, and, bother bother bother,
must they screech, screech why screech why,
why why why.

they say it’s time to let go.
let go let go let go let go let go let go let go let go.
must they! and bother bother bother
ah they say, let go let go
fuck they say, and the sausages hit the floor

fingers break like salad, toss and prepare
my clench release and I begin to exhale