I Should Have Punched You in the Mouth and Saved Us the Trouble

I Should Have Punched You in the Mouth and Saved Us the Trouble

my mouth has always known
when to chew
or when to spit

but you were always heavier
than the sinking feeling
in my gut,
shoving cotton
in the gaps
to prove your determination
for quick and easy fixes
with long term benefits

preaching at my hungry belly
to be more grateful,
less loud with its rumblings,
and to not ask for seconds
after you’d fed me
your most generous portion

the taste of metal
invasive and sterile,
and I learned you cannot rinse once
and wash it down

I closed my eyes
and ignored the dry socket
developing
with our suck

we are happy

and will be
forever and ever
amen.

.25 miligrams

.25 miligrams

every morning
and every night
my head spins around
looking for the bearings
in thought

a go,
go,
gone

and I’ve got birds
behind my eyelids,
they flutter
and flutter
and I tell them
to go to sleep

I pick the lint
out of my pockets,
put it in their beaks,
and they take it
to make a nest
inside

they stretch their wings
and I feel all wrong,
so I take
the small tiger
and let her run loose
until I feel soft
and pliable
under her claws

she scratches
so well
between the ears

now the birds are dead,
the tiger is full,
and I am empty
and feel nothing.

Don’t Forget Your Roots

Don’t Forget Your Roots

there has always been a hole,
I try to fill it
with the men
I have lain. which is harsh,
but mostly true.
you told me
years ago to dig deeper,
find the root, pull it up,
and lay it out in the sun,
but I laughed
and explained how
the method I’ve been using
is less painful
and a hell of a good time,
usually. God knows, what I would find
if I kept searching
for the littlest of fibers
left in his absence.
I put the shovel away
not ready to acknowledge
the ground that would take
a lifetime to excavate.

“You have to dig deep to bury your father.”- Gypsy Proverb