waltzing the hinterlands

i have no description for this.

at night
he longs for death
like a hymn, he knows
the opening verse
wears a choir robe
and sings
with feverish will

words he ties
with purple ribbon
stacks of his poems
would take
years to explain
but tonight
they might find
he’s been
leaving

for loss of himself
and losing his
dreams
has sown a keen
mind
but gaining
a step toward
the end of the road
cuts back 
the thorns from 
memory’s chaff

war torn, ravaged
empties
the contents
of his wooden leg
that wrath
should never 
consume him

nor strange
palpitation 
disturb
the rainless tongue
down weathered road
the tread of
broken teeth 
greased by
reasonable whiskey

garbles the cries
staggers, exploding
his grape head 
over the toilet
only to heighten 
the close of his day
garners the tolerance
from 
the myopic cat
relying on scent 
stench to avoid
flattening whiskers
under
blusterous boot

behind his eyes
chains of white 
lightning strike 
the field where 
nobody plays

when the hatchets and 
tongues break down
the door
the fire will
encircle and 
light up the room

straining to 
hear 
the quietude
he revels
clumps of dead snails
await his circuit dead
nerves eating
the dust he deserves

children walk 
on the smoke
curled ceiling  
with crier’s lust
spread the bad news 
of their harrowing
days
pour bottles of
bleach
down his slackened 
throat
keeping him there
for an ironing board

let the flies dance
the cat 
scratches litter
onto the linoleum 
floor 
where he lies
unafflicted

was supposed
to tell them
to clean up their
rooms

Author's Note

ignore grammar punctuation and the like but otherwise lay it on me

Reviews

[eatmills]

I hope your still writing. I like this.

[Lola Nation]

you're killing me with the font size!! help!