Lurking Fear

you rain on me
like a dark cloud
pouring forth from above
your heat burns me
like a fever
burns into delirium
your eyes sooth me
like dilaudid
soothes a junkie

cheetos crunch.
sour strips on late night trips.
across a bridge
near waters edge
watching the distant city lights.

cars passing.
glancing eyes of passerbys.
driving fast
zeppelin blasts
backseat day(night)dreams staring.

gas tank is full, lets drive all night.

distant rain,
you can see its gray sheet approaching
like the dusk turning to night
distant rain
you can slowly hear the sound coming closer
like the sound of traffic in the distance

absinthe infested dreams in darkness
harken to a fabled palace
in debt to nothing mind nor madness
entrenched in morrows wane and absence

 your a 10 item grocery store whore
you fondle the carrots
and check for bruises on the peaches
digging for milk that will last 2 more days
avoiding another foray so you can watch
soaps all day
winking at the young bag boys.
your sagging flesh like an old
prom queen.
double bag it yourself bitch.

Maybe someones alive.
Awake and praying for help.
Or maybe the people all died.
At this point no one can tell.
From the outside all appears rubble.
The walls have all crumbled and fell.
Building from standing to nothing.
Collapsed just at the lunch time bell.
Sirens in distance move closer.
Screaming and crying all around.
Moving and scrambling at this juncture.
All bodies no living yet found.
The dogs and people all search.
And machines dig through the night.
Because maybe someones alive.
Awake and praying for help.

Neon cages, the town built around
highway asphalt concrete blacktop.
Mighty steel, glass marble siding,
2 lanes 3 lanes 4 lanes widening.
Towering structures, touching the sky,
windows, doorways, tar covered rooftops.
Bus lanes, walk ways, subways, transit,
the heartbeat of the big city.

drink your life away fool…..
braggart cool. pompadour daydreams
love in a glass of whiskey. Your bloodshot eyes
look at me over a shot of tequila. Young. Beautiful.
I staggar to you in our weekend dance. All inhibitions
lost in a bottle of gin. My weeks are emptier still, no talk,
no soul, no hello to console me. Live for the weekend and
waiting for our drunken ritual.

spatter spatter
blood splatter
does it matter..guns go off without a hitch
find a body in a ditch.
bitch, rich? Who knows…But crime shows
that crime grows, no matter what the man
wants you to think,
he stinks,
a fink,
a now egomaniac once high school geek.
Puttin bars on the schools, rules, fools
follow them everyday, who can say,
what is wrong what is right, doesnt matter
spatter, spatter,
blood splatter.

our seaside retreat,
room102, summer heat.
people pass by outside in the dusk
hurried steps, mumbled voices.
sweat glistens on our skin
sheets soiled bunched up on the floor
as we stare at the cracked ceiling of the room.
intimate encounters.
if only they knew
we we do
in room 102

neverending train
awaiting it
the tracks
trackmarks on the road
crossing the road
stopping us
like a red sign
like a nightstick
dropping us
to the pavement
bloody in pain..
thats like this waiting…
waiting for the train…

alone, glass windows down.
long time winters heir, but I dont care.
sometimes a cool breeze can calm you,
sometimes a cold night can actually warm you.

stop light, daydreaming, sunlight.
that distant stare, smiling, thoughts nowhere.
sometimes a stop light can last forever,
sometimes those minutes are times to treasure.

Im in a country club, a rich country club.
I live on a cul de sac on a street in a posh gated community,
with my blonde wife and 3 kids and a dog.
Each week we drive our mini-van to the park to play or to the
local mega-mart to buy groceries.
Sundays are reserved for church, one hour to relinquish all
of our sins.
My neighbors call upon me as block leader to help keep the houses
all just the right color.
On friday nights after the kids goto bed I drink.

I drink a bottle of the most expensive scotch.
My wife skulks off to the bedroom after I finish half a bottle.
I rant and scream in the garage where the kids cant hear me.
After that I move into the bedroom and fuck my wife like a whore
while she cries and stares at the ceiling.
I cum on her face or her tits and pass out.

In the morning I take some alka seltzer, put on a suit, go to the
kitchen and drink the coffee my wife has made and go to work.
Before I leave I kiss my kids and wife goodbye.

flower like, darkness unfolds
seizing the last vestiges of the suns light
reaching the cracks that once were well illuminated
moving in a steady crawl, one almost doesnt notice
its arms gathering.
afternoon turns to dusk to dark, all in a matter of minutes.
flower like, darkness unfolds

when i was 5 i burned my side on a large room heater.
i dont really remember the burn but i remember the red glowing metal strips,
how could any kid resist touching them.
my mother said i was in the hospital for a week, poor kid, burnt.
the nurses must have loved it.
i burned my back again when i was in 5th grade.
this time on a space heater in our government supplied house.
it was a large metal framed thing that looked like a stove, ugly,
but it provided warmth for the cold cinder block crypt we lived in.
i think i leaned back to close to it, trying to get warm from the denver cold.
hands frozen waiting for government cheese and canned meat.
my mom would say ‘dont get too close youll burn yourself’.
the trouble is the warmth is so nice. like a lovers arms holding you,
enveloping you and taking you into a trance like state.
a lover a girlfriend a wife …like the heaters.

red lips like the glowing metal strips.

plastic fucking shit.
polished seething walking hole off to the casting call.
or to the mall. you bitch you dye your hair and cry
your eyes out when things go astray or dont go your
way. rubbed to a fine shine by society you drink fine wine
and dine behind neon facades of dead movie stars…you
plastic fucking whore. no more no more…
dont call us we will call you

life aint free
it costs.
in the days you roam around lost,
wondering what to do,
who to screw,
thinking of people you knew.
go to work and wonder why
will you die,
this way.
is this just a phase, or a sick joke being played,
by those that made,
it.
do they have it better, you wonder, getting upset.
is it a dream, clock screams, wake up.
do it all again.
pay your dues, your toll,
life aint free,
it costs.

When I woke up on saturday I could still smell
the stagnant smoke filled air from the night before.
Beer bottles littered the kitchen countertops like so
many bodies spread across the couches and floor.

I wake up early, even after a night of heavy drinking,
my head pounding out and my sinuses clogged. Alka
Seltzer will do the trick, at least for now. Later though
after the headache wears off, the dull throb of my hangover
will kick in, making everything seem slightly hazy.

I find an empty spot on the couch and turn on the tv. As
the old sitcoms come and go, so do the bodies…First the
dreary eyed blinking then a groan..the jingling of keys
and then the slam of a door. By three the house is empty,
nothing left except the memories, the bottles, and myself.

Guess its time to start cleaning.

sneaky bathroom calls
from stalls
in dirty club halls

you ride the ride
of changing tides
but always hide

your desire, your inner fire, your constant ire

in a social haze
an alcoholic daze
a schoolgirls craze
a schoolgirls craze

 step near me now and see
how dreams like reality can be
so close to what is needed
but so far from what will be