Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride

Fog escapes my lips,

rain caresses your cheek, like

teardrops on a coat.

I catch your glances,

place them in my pocket, no

one knows our feelings.

Ancestral road map,

traced in the palm of his father,

he holds it tight.

Fingers give way to distance,

land, sea, and sky collide,

showing him the world.

Boulder perched is beauty,

crutched, ready to crumble,

Father’s hand gives him courage.

Skies darken and seas erupt,

None can touch him,

within the palm of his father.

She watches, 

as they pass by,

she cries,

rocks cannot walk,

hand in hand.

Only by her crutch,

can she stand,

watching as,

love walks beneath.

They walk on,

the world is within

his grasp,

his father’s fingers,

he grips tight.

Remastication,

of my fragile mind,

by the jaws of 

psychoactive meds.

My mother cries as

needles pierce holes,

that give way to valleys,

that flow dark—

no one can save me now.

Black conquers,

my peripheral vision,

as verses ring out,

each cold sweat,

nervous tick,

Matthew 27:46.

“Eli, Eli lama sabachthani?”

Crucified on a methadone cross,

Left alone to grapple,

lingering thoughts,

remnants of sanity—

Why have you forsaken me?

Lingering wisps, aloof,

crests standing tall, stoops

to valleys of vapor.

Wind driven,

now and again,

M’s on construction paper.

Moon bleached mammal,

no silver lining, no enamel.

Calved in a warm sea,

how could it be?

It nestles amongst the highest canopy.

Nostalgic, swimming in the sky,

Seen through child’s eye,

magic, strange, arcane.

Confusion explained,

returning as it rained.

Whitechapel high on this little hill top,

Sodom and Gomorrah fell to their knees.

Flickering street light cast me in eerie shadows,

Shelley’s monster quivers at my sight.

Seeing a whore on that corner,

untethered my moon lit blade.

As the warmth flowed from her neck,

fingers tingled at the touch of blood,

her life filled my cadaver shell,

her organs dotted the sidewalk,

as my pride filled the sky.

Her sweet aroma lingered in the air,

stench of pigs covered the rest,

Scotland Yard has a hole in their fence.

More sinners to be had,

whores saturate this city,

I will saturate it in blood.

She walks by innocently,

I know where she was last night.

Blood splatters the walls at her house,

it pools on the ground below her perfect figure.

Sheer beauty is hard to come by,

complete passion is a dying emotion,

when anointed in blood, all is clear.

People will know my name,

my knife has immortalized my life,

all victims unknown,

Anonymous reconciler,

I have lived as God.

No bars exist on her jail cell,

no cell mate to keep her company,

tears drown in the thick walls,

no one is coming to help.

Rays pour in through a small window,

she wishes she could see outside.

Seven feet is too much for a six year old.

The passing spider offers conversation,

but this is no fairy tale.

No Charlotte to the rescue,

No giant peach to fly away.

She does not know why.

Six years she stares at a mirror,

as if she needed a reminder,

of what hell looked like.

Days are snapshots in time,

pictures etched in mirrored glass,

eyes dying with ever shutter,

spirits break with every flash.

The tooth fairy does not visit hell,

even if she did,

there is no pillow to direct her purpose.

She dreams of colors beyond white,

textures beyond porcelain,

words beyond her own,

feelings beyond pain.

Car engine wrestles her up,

neighbors leaving for church.

ten thousand prayers unanswered,

God can’t even reach her window.

Rain pecks the small pane,

she longs to soak under clouds,

and splash in puddles.

Perhaps when she’s older,

When the window isn’t so high.

Fireflies talk to the burning end of a cigarette,

shrills attract the horde that latched on your face,

fireflies tore the facade from your frame,

wine drenched towel dangling from their blaze.

Fireflies ferry souls to mountain tops,

where we caught a cloud to half past noon,

running on hands so we didn’t miss seven.

Seven has always had the best sunsets.

Fireflies taste like licorice, but only after it rains,

puddles offered passage to another universe,

where three fourths of four thirds is two times zero,

and life captures moments from a photo. 

Firefly morse code is blocked by nicotine trees.

Dopamine snowflakes are always the prettiest,

fireflies lose their wings in the blizzard,

lost wings steal dreams to fly away to warmth.

Fireflies land on that barren field frozen with snow,

little holes that glow, like a thousand tiny candles,

bandaged birds emerge from candle light.

Firefly’s glow dimmed on the distant horizon,

your magic carpet was out of gas,

we tried to hitch a ride with the blue whales,

looking for blow holes erupting on the surface.

Fireflies took the seven sunset to the three rise,

we lost them at the sudden turn just past ten,

maybe we’ll meet again, possibly after it rains,

or the next cigarette at twelve, calling them.