Tumbled

The days mesh together- my fury grows….

knit unibrow.

My days booked up by the needs of another.

Probation Officer, Counseling, Psychiatrist, McDonalds.

Tumbled Stones- 5.99 a pound-

Walmart. next to the fake flowers.

A bag is broken-

I reach in and choose one- dark luscious brown as liver.

My pulse throbs against its density and cool.

Older than 1000 Walmarts.

I plan, already, its prominent placement among private places

of mine:

moonstones and secret ponds.

and remember I took the time to make it mine.

Face Book

Depression breathes down my back and spills onto the keyboard.

Happy People, Bitching People, Intoxicated People,

Facebook.

Spouting anecdotal wisdom.

Pronouncing achievements anthropomorphizing fuzzy things  and spilling fairy dust

their achievements

their alleged concern about the world.

Community Service

Two years.

make a bologna sandwich and celebrate.

The broken garbage poker stick,

train cars filled with smashed furniture and banana peels,

abandoned black cemetery stones fenced

against Orange Avenue.

cases of Miller at the Sheetz, where people wear pajamas

and crowd the counter for lottery tickets and Newports.

 

 

,

Chicago Cold

I remember when whiskey on our breath was the norm

Soles bruised and cracked,

running through the neighborhood to Lake Michigan.

Your Keds.

Waves loud enough to knock out pain,

man-placed boulders to contain lunging black water,

dirty with sunscreen and unfound dead bodies.

Jean bottoms wet.

14 and 16.

May 24th

Manes shiver in the whipped air

nickering vibrates the dull ground

yards of disconnected  wire grass where

septic  is dug up,

in drying mud, pieces of house,

that lay uneven, rocky, and mad.

Back hoe man reverses

and spits tobacco juice.

black fingers and white skin

swollen over the years to double their size.

 

1:35 a.m.

Quiet now.

Ears buzzing, underwater descent

Tinnitus

Chemically-scented laundry mountain beside the bed.

My door locked.

Beer and aspirin kicking in.

Maybe he’s collapsed into the couch.

No sound of drywall being punched tonight.

Descending, a crayfish,

into dark scummy weeds.