gunshot wound

i learned to run because
crawling didn't get me there
fast enough or far enough away.

i wonder how many times i was
made to feel small to fit into
each hamper or crawlspace.

this is about using my supports
this is about losing illusion
this is about accepting
this is about wartime blues in an ocean of orange and blue.

i soldered my guts together
instead of loosing them again
and walked away without pause.

i stopped the bleeding this time
on my own and without sutures
or wads of gauze.

this is about giving up
this is about letting go
this is about swearing
this is about baring my teeth at the next fucking dog i see.

loose leaf

i drew a picture today on loose leaf
and let it go to the winds
to biodegrade like i will.

i packed up a life in two days
drove for two more
and changed my mind again.

and i know i shouldn't, but i will
beat myself black and blue over it
whether it was the correct thing
to do or not.

the picture was of my first erection,
which smiled back at me
as i looked on horrified.

so i'll pack up a life in a day
drive for two more
and leave that leaf to the winds.

sleeves

i wear my closet on my sleeve
everyday
soft chin, soft eyes hiding daggers
ready to cut you a new smile.

i can sit in this room for days
and i bet never
hear one of them admit
what gets their heart rate up.

this closet is the size
of an entire town
set sideways, spreading out
like a dropped egg.

and culture is just
sanctioned behavior;
eyes forward, ever forward
urinals and cubicles.

i cut off my sleeves today
and it was freeing
to walk around, tough as fuck
feeling my shoulders.

they don't need to know
a glamazon
a chimera in heels
to know they don't get it.

it's a dry heat

i walked until my shoes were tattered strips,

i watched the moon sink just below the treeline

and i made a beeline

through that desert though i’d

never see you, never see you,

the earth spun out of control, caught oblivious and i

curse the sun, curse the heat and the heavens

curse my heart and then my feet..

and my guts churning like sour milk,

recalled your voice like silk

that whispers

panting painting me i’m plastered,

asked me for ten minutes and i gave you an hour…

and 2000 miles under the yawning moon.