on dusty floors where our splintered crutches sprawl
static fills the air breaking sound like sweet lullabies
hymnals of insomnia and dazed withdrawl
heavy darkness squeezes
shoulders slump and life pumps out of blackened lungs
fire coats the inside hall and orange demons rise
flecks of pure white snow so slow they could be hung
blue opens up in worn eyes
staring out avoiding contact
straightening creases in a skirt
ruffling a paper switching songs
trying not to hate myself too much
working till the blisters rise and are gone
straightening my life up until dawn
making calls pretending to care
full of ambition
and lord does it wear
scattered bits of this and that
spider-webbed and off track
curtain drops
fade to black


pattern of reuse

all is well we'll sing
strumming silver string
on top of the world
with no one to see
saturday the earth pulls
and wagers made
far from crying tears
and homely souls endeared
the patron saint of all
lies decadent in fear
motors wind and coils toil
magnets pull us down
freeze dried dreams
taste old and stale
the gate opens with a creak
shadows diving underneath
the fall and rise of the morning tide
wash away all need


losing all direction

bent fingers from bending hands
twisting time, minute by minute
folding holds on broken souls
dropping to the ground
intense, past tense, resent
the world is yours
belief, crack-jack-roll, scandal
behind scandals
everyone needs to know
hand over hand blooming
resuming control
far from real, farther from home
four ways to face
with bright open eyes