2:03 A.M.

2:03 A.M.


So the cat snores for me–in and out, her blind head aside the throw pillow;
even scratches here and there to remain present, to be safe in her sleep or her dream or where ever she’s gone once all the pizza has been eaten and the neighbors have stopped buzzing their doors…traffic swills along Frederick Douglass — the boulevard I’ve walked many times in my dreams but never in daylight; the clarity of all that has not happened is to brutal
like a canker sore
on that first date

or when you realized that life wasn’t unfair — it was simply whatever you wanted it to be, but as your darts fell off the charts and your bullseye became paying the week’s bill just to stay in the race

you realize you’ve lost long ago; I mean I lost long ago
I played
I stayed
I made
So many are good at playing —
so why the long face and dry mouth?
The cross eyes and gray hairs
The stammered mouth, crazy stares

all the errors of my elders I have become
and un-focused

even my loins have diced and broken in two, cant decide which way to flow or grow or go–
there’s no center here, anymore, I have

i am a bursting little rumble in my stomach
a curvy rusty scythe in my belly
a face faked out of functioning harm and forced charm
and nothing
as far as plans or projections or descriptions or prescriptions
as far as the ring will bow
and distend
as far as the bell
will ring
cause man knows
it certainly won’t toll

It takes a solid arm to toll a bell
all i’ve left are a few inches of finger and stained skin
that only wished it knew
the comfort
of a glove

— from the chapbook, Lying Meat.

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