He Cries

tears glisten like distant stars
unreachable galaxies
alone
in the quiet of space

dead planets remind him of his grandmother and
ex-girlfriends

he cries for them
and for a dachshund that used to pee on the floor
excited to see him

days pass as if they were murder trials
long
meticulous
and emotionally draining

the verdict is always guilty
and nights play out a prison sentence
hard time behind bars

he cries for a dream
elusive
if not
impossible

for a woman whose hand he held once
for just a moment

for an island they never escaped to
for the ship he would've needed to sail them there

left only with an anchor
cast not in iron
but in regret

time burdens with memories
both good and bad

his heart begins to stink
like a hamper full of dirty socks

his guts boil
with anger and self-loathing

he cries for the love he once felt
and for the disgust that has taken its place

for horoscopes
and fortune cookies
that never came to be

the future is a monster under a bed
and a killer around a corner

suffocating with fright
he writes a poem as if it was his last breath

the pen becomes oxygen
becomes everything
becomes escape

arranging pieces of the English language
in order to tell a story
convey an image

through a poem he breaks through prison walls
dead planets return to life
and impossible dreams come to fruition

through a poem his tears become a pair of wings
and in sadness
he takes flight

Meatballs

there is a dark place
on Milwaukee's
east side

a place where it rains
when it shouldn't

i met there
a man
that talks with a smile
about poetry

another
that is
garrulous
about Classic Rock
and guitars

otherwise
there are only dogs
at this
dark
rainy
place
on Milwaukee's east side

hounds that snarl if you come too close
if you try to pet them

territorial beasts
pissing
everywhere

i feed them meatballs
to keep them from tearing my throat out

when that doesn't work
i try to be the wolf

i howl to warn them away
but they don't go anywhere
and at the end of each night
i feel like the cat

outnumbered
and in a corner

Poem for a Rabbit

masterful conductor
at the symphony of subterfuge

cleverly
you would escape
any trap and every hunter

the animal
wisest
in a forest
painted

and such merriment brought
to witness those sly tricks you pulled

Brutality Weeps

for wars not fought
and
battles not waged

axes that fell
from the hands of warriors

never wielded
to conquer lands that
should have been
theirs

the drum that never beat
as they marched into combat

brutality weeps for blood not shed
and victory not claimed

the enemy that lives

eating
when they should be rotting
drinking
when they should be rotting
breathing
when they should be rotting

their beating hearts
should've long ago been torn
from their chests

brutality weeps for coffins left empty
and unburied

for a flag never planted
over the bones of the dead

The Axeman of New Orleans

he came
out of the New Orleans
shadows

first went the grocer
and
the grocer's wife

her head
nearly severed
from her body

a mad man
mad for blood
and
mad for jazz

"Carry a trumpet as you walk the streets at night"

the first maniac of New Orleans
only tamed
by the music
the city played
so
well

back into the shadows he went
but
the jazz
kept playing

just in case
he
ever
came back

Hands of the Clock

time is on my side
but
what time
is it?

is it Killing Time?

standing with an ax
biting its bottom lip
and ready to take my head

bury my remains
in some swampy
desolate location

is it Bedtime?

waiting with a quilt
and a pillow
so that i might finally get a good nights sleep

i hear the clock ticking
like a metronome or a bomb

the hands are coming around
and
i only hope
they are not coming around
to choke me

Una Cosa Me Da Risa

it's just
the memory of the sky

blue
and maybe it only seemed so blue
because it was the first time i noticed
just how blue it was

or
that it was blue at all

sure
i knew

enough to offer that up
as my answer
when asked

but this was the first time i saw it
and i finally realised what it meant
for the sky to be blue

it seems so simple
until you look at it

and the grass

it had been green
for as long as i'd rolled around in it

buried dead canaries
beneath it

ripped out patches in my small fist
and chewed upon it

it was green when i spit it out

also then
were my tongue and my teeth

it had always been green

gramma told me stories
from when she
was a little girl
and that the grass had been green then too

my mom told the same stories
and likewise
was the grass green when she was a child

but now
as i looked around
i realised what it meant
for the grass to be green

it seems so simple
until you look at it

i do not recall a cloud in the sky on that day

i'm sure they were
but i could not see them

perhaps they were hidden behind houses
or under the leaves of the trees

those still giants that stood in our yard
branches like arms
casting evils away

and their leaves
were green as well

voices whisper in the background
and everything smells like lemonade
and potato salad

i could barely see the ones i loved
because it was too beautiful

a different kind of brightness than i had seen
when i would sit and stare directly into the sun

wondering
how strong my eyes
were

how long
was i able to stand
watching it burn in the sky

but it was early afternoon
and i just kept looking west

soon enough
it would be
there

soon enough we all would

settling
into our darkness

but for this moment
of which
i speak
the grass became truly green
and the leaves on the trees

the voices whispered
loud enough
that i knew they would echo forever

and the sky
it was blue

it seemed so simple until you looked at it

but if you learned
to look away
for
just a second
it was so obvious
that you just laughed