The Screed

To tamper with one's seal
is acceptable.
Tamper being
anything short of its erasure, up to and including all modifications
that own itself.
To tamper with another's seal
by physical or mental pressure
against the bearer's will
is not
and punishable
by erasure of the offender's seal
in absolute and for all times
and dimensions
followed by
one life sentence
served knowing
their body
is a corpse
and only
with all tools removed
to create a new seal
&
should their ability
cross boundaries of creation,
the summary removal of all
appendages, senses, and functions
that would gift them
the privilege
to do so.

Oh Quitter

Easy to sound
away tolls of loss,
flesh and soul,
to causes dear
with comforts all around
the storm battered
bluffs below the
jagged cliff's edge
scaled to a clap on the back
and a smile;
no more, no less.

Easy to shout
into sea frothed winds
the sacrifices
willing to blow
to reach the shores
across that deep
green black hungry chasm
with a friend beside
who knows
you cannot swim.

Easy to cry
until eyes bleed and teeth
crack clenched
over joining hells in which
so many have died
when your address
is not and
never was
on the invitation list.

Where was the passion,
the fly or fall dead trying,
the bluster and belly fire
when the time came to pass
to make up your mind
and you wilted and turned away?
Will it be there,
this bloodied sword struck to lightning charged air,
when the time comes to choose again?
Will this violent defense of life
vanish overnight or, easier, remain
silent and blind
until its moment, its chance, evaporates?

Tracers 5

Once you hear
you can't unsee.
For the thrill;
willing to peek
around a corner.

Them's The Rules

Passing a smell test at 9 A.M.
before you've accomplished anything
is about as useful as
kicking a car's tires
to see if there is any gas left in its tank.

The moment sweat begins to bead
the rest of the world will ascertain
you have not showered in three days.

Scrub brush is on the rack.
Soap is on the shelf.
The hot takes a minute to warm up.
What am I saying,
you know the drill.

When It Comes To World's End

When it comes to world's end,
I walk the line.

In all and all,

gas over winter and Winter over nuke,
blues over pop, drowning over electronica,
shelling over vaporization (again) ,
fragments in flesh over gas,
door to door kick ins
over breach.  And
target practice
over live rounds.

Five hundred pound packed  steel cans
of cement.  Phosphorous and chlorine.

Fields of wire and actual mines capable
of upending a tank and quite capable
of relieving you of your limbs.
Who would wish that on a taste for flame.

Come again? So there was this one day.

Seven concussions in.  I hate everything.

Broken noses and

I get tired of i c io knknen  ne nea a . I get
tired of fixing things.  It is exhausting.

The dream faded a long time ago.
That soup fed for years, we all know it.
It's gorgeous.

Golden.

Blade Runner

Every time you walk the razor
you renew the lease
on this body.
One more nail to hang a picture.
One more mural committed to walls.
One more reason to see
the sun rise and bathe the evening slag
and die.
Every time you walk the razor
to renew the lease
on this body,
promise me the evening sky
when the chimney swifts are feeding
and the bats are beginning to take wing.
That silk spectrum sky between
diamond black heaving and
sunlight's bleeding.
Every time you walk the razor
and renew the lease
on this body,
show a glitter of teeth
to let the engine seething
breathe underneath.

Myth and Magic

Living out here like it's gitmo,
It's a prison I'm in
I can't see forw'.
Snow drop lines
and a cube and a coat
and boots and gloves
and sunrise come down
they ask me where I am and I'm salty as fuck like
"fo sho."

I carry the Atlantic in everything I do and what,
yes you, I already put down the pistol at the duel
and cruelty is just another method to learn to
when stall
turn and burn like you stole something.
Get ripped and hold the plastic bag close like
you stole something.
Just another way in.

Another way outta gitmo.
Someone say something or don't.
Let's get more.
Sleeping in a jail and there's bail posted by me.
Toes in the sand picking up shells
watching the sunrise and not enough bass
to take me to the place I want to ride
inside this cell.  

It's fun.

Snow angels.

Two bars.

Number one.

Small Cry

I don't know how many times
I have to consider
taking up religion of any sort
to make you love me
as much as I still love you
written out in droplets of tears
on fake wood floor
all along my powder blue toilet seat
while I dig my fingertips
into the base of my jaw
hard enough to make it bleed
understanding and quite possibly
while we examine the content
parenting that would
vouch.

Rip.

The Other Parts 2

Hack them off.

With a brilliant stainless steel.

Hold it to hot iron and make a new

limb.  A new.  For heaven's sake  end

of a sort of thing that will allow

a new way to wake up.

Hack it off,

Hack it off!!!

Turn into a new beautiful beast someone can

love.

That's what we all want is not it???

Hack it off.

Wake up each new day

with a new pain.

Discover and retch and discover that thing

still attached to your body.

Hack it off.  Hack it off.  laugh.

Spread your lips wide enough to show teeth.

Wide enough to brush.

Hack it off.

Hack it off.

Hack it off!

Smoker 55

They call me
by many names.
If you have a light
you can call me anything
as long as I smile.

As far as
Christopher?
Absolutely not.
Offer Cricktwofur and I will demand your tongue on a velvet pillow
that measures 16 inches by 16 inches and no less
and a velvet that must match one of the primary colors
number coded to the amount of fingers I have splayed
behind my back without do-overs
as well as
both of your ring fingers, one of your achilles tendons
(you have the option between the two)
one of your thumbs, all of the clothing you are wearing,
and 25% of the hair on your scalp.  You can keep your scalp.
Then yes.

Do you have a light?
Well then, also yes
(that's not my name).

While Slicing Apples and Oranges To Saucers Before Brunch

"How am I supposed to get ahead in life
if I am constantly effecting repairs?"

Two steps forward one step back?
The blade tip tangs off of a saucer's edge,

Sunbright white apple flesh slips loose
as it withdraws to the cutting board tasks.

"Yes, something like that-"
Don't lick your fingers before we're done.
It's impolite.  Plain rude.
"If I have to keep fixing things as they break down
and covering costs, when do I get ahead?"
You don't.

You may, if things break your way.
A short sip of tea and a pink cloth napkin
dabs each side of the wide blade
until it splits the eyes like the
glimmering miniature forks
resting beside the disks and wedges of
dewy juice sweating fruits
inside each saucer.

"That's stupid."
Is it?  Maybe 'getting ahead' means
living comfortably.  Where are you trying to get to?
"A place where I don't have to fix things all of the time."
We should probably get some sugar cubes out,
the tea is a little too dry.
"A place where I can have nicer things.
Reliable things.  New things!"
A short slurp and a little cough.
A bumble bee printed cigarette case
serves as a cup rest.  "You're right,"

"it is a bit dry."  Chairs rattle and groan
against warming morning patio cement.
"I'm tired of being poor."
Being poor or feeling poor?

'Getting ahead' for you, for me,
may only amount to advancing life one more day,
one more week.  Things will always need fixing.
They will always break down, new and old.
Be glad that you are able to and imagine
where you would be
if you couldn't.  At least now all you need
is a little luck.

A lawnmower coughs and dies.  Cusses drift
up and up and mute
into the hiss and swish of tree leave's
sway and gossip.  Birds resume
their afternoon plans.

"Getting ahead in life..."
You don't.  I don't.  Not in the way you're thinking.
The best you'll do is a vacation here and there.
Maybe a car or two and a house.  You'll feel poor then too.

Apple slice snaps in a toothy smile,
chewed vigorously before a miniature fork clatters
to a saucer face.

Have patience.  Your day will come for you
and it will either be the day you get what you want
or the day you realize you already had it.

Update Drivers

I assume it is something like Entemanns donuts.
It is nice when the pastrys come around,
though impossible to live with.

I love to eat a woman's pelvis, all of the way around.
It is a very unique event down to the second,
but impossible to live with

on a steady diet.  Explain what it is you love to do,
in light of what it is you love to do and can.
Not impossible to live with.

No one eats only cookies & milk and lives for long.
Get some sun.  Prey day licked.
Impossible, no.  Yes, to live with.

The Man With the Delicate Hands 2

What rises with the sun?
The wreckage falls away slag.
Through the hydraulic stamp,
the spark, the heat, the noise,
comes the glass man.  The Tore.
2 inch thick plates of gold.
Bullet stoppers.  Sabot stoppers.
Eat a shaped charge like puffed rice.
What rises with the sun?
Compressed circuitry.
Diamond dusted 4000 degree blades.
Sensors that can see from space.
A satellite sized orbital cannon.
The wreckage falls away slag.
Through the hydraulic stamp.
Rise and shine, draco.
What rises with the sun?
Inside, a boy.  Coursed.
Plated like no other.
A metal box impregnable.
Designed to keep out.
Hand crafted to keep in
the nuclear glass.

Another Night Out

After Aesop Rock's Gun For the Whole Family

It was six hail Mary's and a slow box cutter.
Ten kinds of patience and a little pan butter.

Amazing grace and a lazy day.
Everyone knows somebody's gonna pay.

When we kick the switch and we're no one's bitch,
licking our fingertips with a bloody lip

with a half dozen rockets in their chambers
yet to slip.  The four of swords

because two weren't enough and
we know it's good to be king but
not the king of cups.

Seven on the shelf.
One in the mouth.
Eight in the pocket.
Nine going loud.

Bring it all back for the sunset
if you can.

Well, I'll be damned
for days.

It was six hail Mary's and thumbing the beads.
A slow box cutter to fill up the needs
and a reaper to cut down the God damned weeds.

Take the pilgrimage.

Amazing grace and a focused day,
we all know someone is going to pay.

When the bulls dance,
stand clear of the pit.

Lock horns, sit up straight.

Here, the steel sings.

Feel it, along your arm, straight up through the nerves.
Wrapped thick, the handle stings.

It was a golden day, it was amazing grace,
there is no one I can't reach.  Pass the popcorn.
Catch and release and murder
each other's queens.  Box cutter slow dance.

Deploy, deploy!
Wouldn't you agree that it is fabulous.

Where are your kanines?

I'll Come See You

Knock the slag off, with air piston jacked hammers.

Sitting on a crate opposite you
sitting on another,
printed in yellow block stencil
underneath, 98 mm high explosive x 75.

Underneath my ass 150 mm
aye pee
times thirty.  My feet dangling like our cigarette's
smoke mingling on a windless afternoon.

The front is 220 miles out
East as the crow flies.
We will have to refuel
over the mediterranean
and I am looking forward to seeing
how you do it.

Our conversation has already broken down
into objectives and way points with a little
bet mixed in to the after action report.

It is unfair
to where we land and to whom we mount against,
because they are not in on the game.

Us both waiting for the KA-CHUNK
of couplings leaving us in free fall
to where our bombardier's decided
we could do our best
against the populace.

A little cheers of coffee.
A little double check of flight suits.
Is the mic where it needs to be?
Trial fit the helmet again
after a quadruple check;
be sure the reticle is in line.
Double check my nail polish
before the glove comes on.
Smash shoulders and opposing tattoos,
before the top of the flight suit
is zipped on.

Finish the coffee, with pills in our mouths.
They will learn what we live for,
they will learn what is loud.

Our flights will be long.  I'll sleep inside the mech
along the way.  I don't know what happens to you
while we wait out the sandbox for play.
The thup thup thup thup thup thup
I can hear, because I never turn off
the audio input once I am strapped in.

For me, it is a very long long long grin
to watch you work.  Guilty. 

Watching, zone cleared against spear chuckers
who happened to have come into
a fushionable pile
and needed reckoning before
something terrible happened,
you break out a "grenade"
two tons strong and willing to-\
-/Christ, where is the pin?

Mech against mech.  Dust to dust.
Die another day.
Why can you not understand I do
feel the same?

Fire the shell in my mechanized palm
to fire it just that strong
and knock it four miles out
to change the time of day from moonlit to
high noon in a fire ball that could eat city blocks,
but she's in the air.  Fair.  But "what the f@#$?"

Overkill.........  underneath your left foot,
underneath your left pedal inside your cockpit and
underneath you left foot outside your cockpit
you are grinding human flesh into a paste.  And now is
the fucking time.
Do you remember being small?  I do.
You don't get conscripted by chance. 

You find detonators.  You stumble upon detonators.
Land mines   Mines.  I've never met a land mine like you.

I will know how to move forward
regardless after you.
Everyone talks big.  Yack, yack, yak yak yak, waaaan.

Cruiser.  Angry.  There was someone else here.  I will find them, sonavubitch.  Fail.  My fault.    Reset.

Reset. 

Reset.

Reset.

Clutch in.  Match revs. Time to the light.  Gas pedal.  Clutch out. 
Release brake.
Gas pedal down. 

Slowly.

Burnout.

The Screamer

Facing down the barrel of the sun
with the bullet ray striking I
blink
seeing the spiral from the muzzle to chamber,
the pin behind,
remember the project?
The thing you brought to class.
Physical poetry, she said.
Matter, she said.
Tangible, she said.
So I built a sea mine,
triggers and all,
iron casing and all so when it went off
death would be assured,
all of it out of wine bottles,
spray paint, and 40 gauge wire.
Getting it there, across campus, was not easy.
Is it live?  For me to know and you to
fuck off.
The workshop did not go over well either.

The Test

Are you is or is you.  The test
or is this ain't my baby?  Our test.
Beginnings and lending.  I will sing to you
as long as you will let me.  We are in.
Born ready, no?  Knuckle to knuckle.
Arcs intercepting.  Is this the test?
Fractures.   Is THIS the test?
Twenty nine into my heart and
for the vest,
still breathing,
screaming,
still breathing.  Is this the test?
I can't-
I can't cum until your hand's around my throat.
Are you in?  I am.  Ready to pull you apart,
my baby.  Have you broken your wrist today?
I have sticks and tape.  Are you is or is you ain't
a test.  Shining on the books, like a nickel on pavement.
Bend without breaking.

Trapper Keeper

You remember that last time we talked,
stalking tall, can lacking, screaming cross street
and balking at the kids jay walking
like they had license for knocking on doors
they had no business strolling toward?

That shit was crazy, wanting to make them
babies given they don't know up from
being lazy when the streets get wavy and
the only thing you know is no one knows
who someone knows in the pack.  Knives out
when we attack and if it's not tonight
it's going to be out back where you work and
clap clap clap.

Reload inside the middle of the road the pack
is one and many against just is not fun,
howl the same, play the game, take on one
then run away. This time, just this, take a name,
do some search, do some work, the only limit
is the face of the Earth.  I'll find you out and
shout your name, you may not know, but the game
doesn't end when I give up to numbers.

Skirting the field, polishing the shield,
you've got range, but I've got wield.
And the day will come when I'm done with business,
and I'll tap your shoulder and "Da fuck is this"
will come out your mouth and I'll be out
from the side of your stomach to the top of your teeth,
on the ground, lay sound, I'll leave
the door closed and the handle locked,
neat and tidy like some kind of oscar heeled thief.

Boundary Theory 3

The diagram is failing for
a lack of understanding given by

screws stripped,
seating after market components underneath.

Complete the diagram
on your own and I will not

dive too far
with butcher hands and a taste for motor oil.

Seasons Change

Laughter like green tree leaves and
smoke square baskets on the breeze.

Love will make a fool of us all,
stopping the Mack truck so the grand mother can cross
the street and what is traded, life for a life and laughter

ahead of every cock sucked, every stretch of skin
unlicked, every hair on fore arm untouched
giving twitch
to the ripple of time and space not crossed

every smoke unshared, every kiss unpushed,

press return. Goose bumps, press return.  I will see you tomorrow.
Christmas movie moved.  I will see you tomorrow
while the ripples shake themselves into patterns
seen more clear up close where street light cannot go.
Do not come home unwed.