No One Leaves The Light On

The ghosts will be waiting for me
when I open the door,
remove my work boots
and grab a Diet Dr. Pepper from the fridge.

They will be snickering as I fill a bowl
with the midnight dish of ice cream,
and scroll through NETFLIX
scary movies.
Searching for killers to take my mind from
the moments I murder.
Monsters that help me forget the nightmare I am
living.

The dead amused by the death I feed
with endless Internet searches.
Scrolling through facebook posts to find a reason that's
not there.

I step outside to smoke a cigarette.
Ashes to ashes,
and the ghosts still waiting when I step back in to the
quiet
dark
rooms
where I can never lay to rest.

Without The Witch

I cannot be cast
under any moon,
upon any soul.

If not for
her,
I don't exist.

I am the recipe, she is the cook.
I am the effect, she is the cause.

I am the spell, and I
need her
so.

A World Ruled By Art

i dream of a world ruled by art
where
the letters that come in the mail
are written in fingerpaints
and tornado sirens sound off to the tune of Chopin
where
sculptors stand in the place of soldiers
painters in the place of police officers
actors in the place of business men
where
the stage and the canvas are of more importance
than a profit
where
the bottom line is drawn with a pencil
only to begin a sketch
where
instead of senators there are poets and
instead of presidents there are piano players
tickling away the anthem of the world
in jazz keys

Mercury

immortality is a syrup for which
i have longed to sip
allowing it to course through my veins and
guide me into the forever

unfortunately
death has it's lips pursed
waiting for my kiss and the cold
caress of my decaying flesh

one day there will be nothing left of me
but a pile of bones and
perhaps
a pile of poems

Old Comet

back when Constant Reader was right next door

you could grab a used book

then go and drink SporTea

for hours on end

it's where i really got to know Bukowski

and Fante

where i read Of Mice And Men

and went to the bathroom after closing the last page

and cried

where i would watch the hipsters

in between reading

and realize that

though i had tattoos in the same places

and shared some of their taste in music

i wasn't one of them

but

i wanted to be

Ben

i hope
my dear friend
that we are going to meet on the other end of this fight

stronger and sharper than we were
even before we tumbled together into the storm
that left us drenched in remorse

i am sorry that when i last tried to dry off
i cut ties with you

i thought it was the right thing to do
but not speaking to you didn't rid my thirst

even leaving Milwaukee was
not enough
to circumvent the craving

but when i got the word that you were going into treatment
i decided to take another swing at this sobriety thing

you
inspired me to try again and
i hope
it sticks for both of us

that somewhere down the road we can find each other as sober
but wiser
than we were when we were younger

back when we could get high from banging our heads to a Pantera song
and shaking our fists to an Angry Samoans record

i hope
my dear friend
that we can find a path that leads neither of us back to a bar stool
or a liquor isle

i hope
that the future is not a grim series of hangovers
shakes
and nauseous withdrawal

i hope
and
in spite of my cynicism
i pray

The Prisoner

slippery bars make it hard to hold you
captive
against your will

always lathered in the sweat of escape
you elude any sentence
that is legislated upon you

bound not by verdict
and even less by
virtue

you never seem to learn that
you
should never be let out