got the stink of a few months on em

If We Could Only Find Our Sheet Music Again

Truth and sand and boys who forget girls when they’re gone
Mud up from the bottom of beer cans
To kiss cigarettes with and we love poems about drugs
Drugs and poems and flavors of eastern philosophy
Ringing truer with each passing puff
Puff pass passing that truer ring
That warm sun we all really wanted to fly to
And let its every color seep deep into our skins
Our ability to embrace anything beautiful slowly
Eroding with every conformed movement
That we let break against our beautiful bones
Our harp string spinal chords
Our hides, better for stretching across drum heads
Than let waste sallow
We await playing ourselves
In the same notes, in the chorus of vibrations
We forget that for a time our mother’s hearts and organs sang to us
And played us like church bells
where we hung like clappers within


Salute Before You Slap

You, shirt-sleeved deity
Look down towards that great, expansive
Inner elbow,
Some last frontier.
Spreading like deltas,
From a divine view
Your veins are to that
Mosquito which pushed a flag
Down softly into your skin
Claiming your blood his own
His winged body waving like a windsock now
Filled, the color of his nation’s patriotism
Always red.


Legs On The Beach

Airplanes advertising from the skies
selling a brand that sells you fries
baking your skin in front of your eyes
you forgot banana boat was selling you fries


Playgrounds in Your Coffee

Gum drop,
All the pretty candy colored
Compliments
You give
For a quarter
For a quarter
You gave a dollar more
So that I’d kiss you with a
Purple tongue