At the end of the day

At the end of the day

we’re all just

butthole tissue

flesh, bone, and spirits

away from the truth

if there is any, well

we’ll surely find out

at the end of the day.

So keep it clean cause

you’ll never really know

until you do, I guess.

Advertisements

Our Mind’s Eye

We mustn’t shy away from fear

but rather dive face first

into it’s claws letting it tear our flesh

from cheek to chin and gnaw

on our skulls if not only to

release ourselves from our mind

whose eye is so often filled with fear.

rawhide

I’ve tried on many different skins

and ended up in this one,

stretched at the waist

twisted and torn

ready and willingly

back for more, more, and more

staples and stitches

dimples for dimes

tenderly oiling this rawhide of mine.

it happens all the time

tell someone

you love

a simple truth

and watch

while they

twist

and disfigure

your trust

until it is

so unrecognizable

you can’t help

but help them

pick apart

every last piece

of flesh and goodwill

until there is

nothing left

but the laughter

of strangers

we shot to kill

It sucks

it’s burnt

it’s hard to swallow.

I chew the fat

then choke down

bile.

For now

mouthfuls

of blood and oil.

As I spit flesh

it stinks

of sorrow.

A few more bites

just choke

and swallow.

For what it’s worth

we shot to kill

and did.

The Sincerity of Our Chains.

Unlocked.

A brief wave of empathy.

A surge of relief.

Icy cold goosebumps.

Cover to cover.

Nearly 600 pages like chains.

And now, Freedom?

I beg to differ, you see…

The shackles leave marks,

indeed.

Deep reddish grooves on ankles, on wrists.

So tender, the flesh.

They are much more cozy than I see elsewhere.

They are much more honest, you see…

I leave them off a short while.

To make a sandwich.  To use the loo.  To make chump change.

But know I must put them back on again.

Because freedom isn’t frolicking aimless as a loon.

Freedom is trusting the sincerity of our chains.

Knowingly, locked.