Pete Suicide
My revolver
So easy to get
Cocked in fist
On the way to the grave
Wide open for morning
Loaded and ready
Bullets to blast
My brains to the clay
Of Mother Nature’s womb
Skull full of stars
People that cross
Lost in a garden
Of slab and dirt
Hands from graves
Reach out to shake
Me up so late
Embalmed hands
Amidst the wilt
How I love the Dead
Putting down roots
Echoing whispers
By the time you get it together
You start to fall apart . . .
Skeletal, you know
A jaw drops
Moss will grow
With unknown approach
Living to die, dying to live
Tombstones scream
Or winds grow shrill
Among final faces
Of resting places
My constant family
Who embraces chill
Beneath my feet
Tripping
Naked
Among the Dead
To a bed
Where I sit
Smoking a joint
On that tomb
Sculpture of stone
Near a baby’s
Grave
A seedling
Alone
How I yearn
To hold you
Above
Your crumbling
New name
Eroded
Not even a weed
So I sing
A lullaby
And reach out
To cradle you
In my arms
With your rattle
Of bones
Watching
Birds Fall
Birds fall
From the trees
Dying
From disease
Wondering
Why
Death is
The rest of
Your life
Some call me a necrophiliac
Who bones the boneyard
Others, a ghoul
Who haunts the Dead
Whatever tickles their tulips
Licking dew drops of lust . . .
Did you know divorce kills?
Divorce kills children
For the rest of their lives
Under-aged children
Kicking the emptiness
Of a beer can
Can no longer feel
Superior over anything
Nothing but luck
Before granite claims
Years of avoidance
In unfulfilled hearts
Finding a family
Like me
In the dead of night
To dance
Headlit
In moonlight
Celebrating
Every vertebrae
Of our spines
Bone
Is white dust
And soul found
In gathering
Atoms
Ready to be
The one
In the box
Planted
To remain
Where
I can always
Be found
Underground
Knowing dark
Caresses
My mind
Listening
No comments:
Post a Comment