Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Gimme Heels

We always wore them:
Red leather pumps,
Mirrored black patents,
Snakeskin toe crushers,
Four inch,
Pink ribboned
Giggly stompers
Trudging through
Midwestern blizzards,
Skating in parking lots
To a corner gin mill
Uppers splattered
With spillage from
Quarter tappers,
Cigarette singed soles
By sot-dropped embers
On a dance floor
Tacky from Jack and Coke
Snapped heel lifts
Crossing gravel laden alleys
Cursing the walk home,
Back for more
Every weekend
Never quite
Learning the lesson

Friday, December 27, 2013

Wooden Beads

Trickling from eyes
Down cheeks
Sunken spirit
In a knightly ritual
Stinging orbs
Saline skin
Silently begging
With redundant words
Decade after decade
Pleading for
High resolutions
To daily lows
Under a pitch shadow
A sopping pillow
The evaporation
Of distress
By first light
In the clarity
Of aurora

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

amy, liquid gold

skinny-trip huffer man hacks his lung
onto the sidewalk
with a backturned, halfass basketball cap
basketball, peach basket, orange basket
basket so big like a swollen huffer-head that he holds
holds in a huffer-haze

vox clamantis, said my starchwhite friend
vox clamantis hollering
hoop-de-holler highway hollers
to the highest of heaven
(not in the desert)
while the skinny-trip huffer man
swings a deal for a tube of something good

his dirty little fingernails
like a tiny little set of sheet metal brakes
dirty line of mulch for growing potatoes
(like my brother used to say)
scratch of skin
and scratch of hair
and scratch of mucous from his nose
(some call it snot, but it's not)

even tiny little bits of dried blood clinging right in there
mingled with the feces
from the stool
from the men's room
from the grocery store
right on the bus line

but skinny-trip huffer man
holds his crotch
so the girls will look at him and know
they will know he is more
more than just a skinny-trip huffer man
with a set of sheet metal brakes at hand
and a seventeen o-clock shadow
on the skinny upper lip
that waggles just a little bit
when the old lady screams
and the old man hits
and maybe he isn't more
than a skinny-trip huffer child
in a big-boy-bounding-bold
and balding basketball cap

and his bowels came loose
all over seventh avenue
and the man with the really big eye
(just the left one)
(he injects the paint into the right one)
(it's okay, sugar-poopsie)
(it stopped hurting months ago)

the man with the really big eye
laughed away the smell
on seventh avenue
when the skinny-trip huffer man
lost his bowels
but for just a minute

so now
skinny-trip huffer man wipes his hands
onto the sidewalk
with a backturned, halfass basketball cap
basketball, peach basket, orange basket
basket so big like a swollen huffer-head that he holds
holds in a huffer-haze
and it pounds
like a swollen huffer-head
ripe with
the sweetest,
hopped-up hoop-de-huffer
holy hangman
amyl nitrite

I just love you,

Wake up now,


Monday, December 16, 2013

Red Wolf Anthology

Over the past year, some of my poetry appearing on the lost beat has been based on prompts through We Write Poems.  The fine people at We Write Poems have published Red Wolf Anthology covering poems inspired by their prompts over the past three years.

Download a free PDF copy of the Red Wolf Anthology here, read it, share it and join in on lots of poetic fun! 


Through this site, I have not only been able to get inspired through the prompts, but also through the really fine poets who post their poems there.

Happy reading and writing!


Monday, December 2, 2013

Coming To...

He slept
With uneven train tracks
In his dreams
As his elderly black angel
Sat by his feet
With her ink tipped white wings
Tucked in close
I was
Trying to get
Her attention
Without words
She ignored me
I wasn’t her ward
She laid hands upon
His tortured mind
Covering him
With feathered
Dotted i’s ,
Crossed t’s
Her stern nod
Tilted my head
To my own angels
With their blue scrubs
In super HD clarity,
Florescent halos
Calling my name,
Bringing me back,
Uncertain of the truth