Smoker 60

There is a house on a hill
the sun sets south by south
west, catching the asphalt
patches.

If you visit
the horizon
someone will die.

Kiss, wink, survive.

Sloppy seconds and time travel.

Forgive and forget.  Learn new ways toward passion.

If each second can eat a second off,
I am game.  I want to
light a cigarette at the viewing
just to smoke indoors.
A step back
from kicking the coffin off
its stand.

It will be hilarious.

Smoker 59

Between fingertips
embers light and suss.

Tears dry.  We can
kill them.

We can kill them.

Cursed.  Blessed.  War.

Given up on crying.  A teardropular object.

I've heard the stockpiles of drums (bass)
buried beneath the dunes around Dakota
are going south.

Might be the mountains.  My geography is shit.

You heard about that?

Do you have a magic marker?

Silly is like cologne.  Gear?  Three.  Cruising?  Mh-hm.
Cruising speed.  Hypersleep.  Upon arrival
ready
to go to war.  Beheadings
are not without their "cannot go back".  In the theme
of what turns
a rum runner
into a red drum
and a bass runner

is rules.

Three five seven snub hug
hip
hippie
fuck boy wink
rotate

Dream.

Wake.

He can
t
hu
rt
you]]\\\\

He cannot hurt you anymore.  He cannot hurt you.
You are okay.  Ten four?

Cat Nap

Open one eye to partly cloudy rays
between the slats of the window shade,
stippled through the thin burgundy curtains,
to see if the cat is still stone asleep
in the crook of your arm
while the A/C whirs.
Find that he
has one eye open to see
if you're ready to serve lunch or
tickle a swiveling ear,
or if you'll forget he is there
and give up your warm pillow
because you've gotten up to go pee.
Tut and click teeth
until his lid closes
and he stretches and yawns.
The afternoon is young,
the apartment a sauna,
scratch scratch his nose,
then your own, with a free hand
before slipping, for a few minutes more,
back to sleep.

One of Those Days

"Pssst."

The hell do you want?

"Just wondering what you're up to."

Work.

"Oh.  Cool."



"Hey."

Yeah?

"Still working?"

Yeah.

"Oh.  'Kay, cool."



"Pssssssssst."

Yes?

"Soooooo, want to work on something else?  I could really use some help."

No.

"Oh, come on!"




"Hi."

Hello.  Maybe later, I really need to get this done.

"It's later now."

Not now-later... later-later.

"It's later-later now, if you want to be technical about it."




"Hey, buddy.  Hey.  I know you can hear me.  Hey, you."

Oh my god, this had better be important!

"What are you doing tonight?  Any big plans?  'Cause if you're not busy..."

I do not have time for this.

"Forty-five minutes and I promise I'll leave you alone.  Deal?"




"Hey, sweetness.  I don't mean to be a bother, but can you come here a sec?"

What is it?

"My hamstring has been bothering me all day, can you help me stretch a little?"

I know what you're doing.  Thirty minutes, alright?  And I don't want to hear a peep out of you until tonight.  Not an hour from now, not two hours from now.  Not until tonight.  Deal?

"That sounds perfect.  I don't know what I'd do without you."




"Pssst, hey."

For crying out loud!

Smoker 58

The moon is an ember
  wrapped in rolled blankets of dust
          between the stars.


          Lightyears.
              Colonies.
                               Flags.






                   Coats of arms
                   and armor
                    against the planets weather.


















                   We will survive.

                       A new colony.



Ankle high grass.  Camera lens whirring.
Battery Power!
Listening to the sound of double doors
behind me
watching the moon set
wishing there was a wolf like me
somewhere on Europa.
The moon,
wrapped in coal clouds and simmering,
surging,
emulating a sun.  I would swallow you.
I can.

                     Teeth gnash.

               Lashes blink.


 

















Wewillbehomeinfortywinks.

Smoker 57

Can I appropriate your words?
Fire, Walk With Me/
The no gooders do gooders
she makes me cry no moar
loud more kings more games
do not begin to describe
how razor I can be
tough I can be rough I can rhyme
like a shut the fuggup.

There was a time I used to count the eyelashes on your upper eyelid.  There was a time when I used to count the sound of the licks on your back side.  Got dahmn, we both know the sound of the wings of just how time flies.

Some things don't change.  Thirty years old and you still get to enjoy how pops still fights like.  Holy biz, I'm glad like
if I was there I would
make a new song like
dot dot dot
fuck double taps
I will triple up
his forehead
little screw holes
and a bit
of more lead
because he still doesn't understand
if he hurts one of us
he hurts all of us

and what's more is

theonlythingholdingmebackisthefactistherackofpotentialunrealizedonhiswatchandI'dlovetokillbutmylifemeansmorethanthatshitthathesonandIwasgonetheminuteshedecidedwithhimandIwasgonetheminuteItoldwhatshewasonandsheleftmefordeadandImdoneputtingbabytosleepTheygavemesevenyearsIgavethemmyfutureandtheyateituplikeIwasleasedandsoweareenemiestiloneofusdiesfuckyouI can not

I will not

I refuse

the gate of a lie.

Fire up the lighter.  Roll toward the surface to air missile.  Break toward it and afterburn.

Tracers 4

Come home.
Sit where Bralliesh Cafe's sun umbrellas were
on 49th and Canning St.

Stoplight squeak
in the breeze.
Pack up tin shot glass and pocket the kit
after screwing the cap on.

Awoo!

I heard stories about Torrenby,
the carnival grounds and grand stage
before the war.

Things were nice then.