To Heaven

The neurotic old man one day found
an old journal of hieroglyphic scratches
and where creases ran into flesh
was a face of rumpled Christmas sweaters. Continue reading To Heaven

Clenching Fists

There is nobody out there looking for me.

Old white earbuds thumping mercilessly
their forgotten howls alive forever…

He was twelve when the words came alive:
They weren’t the only Shook Ones
cuz he was shaking too
sinewy fingers flailing as if,
as if to disconnect from their hand
to skip town without a second thought.

Old white earbuds thumping mercifully
to lessen the stranglehold of cords.

“Prodigy”: must be one who sees things –
but ain’t nothin prodigious bout them eyes
darting round like a pair a squirrels.

Look at me boy.
I said look at me.
You all alone in these streets, cousin.

*You’re alone in these streets, cousin.
And try to be more descriptive,
do you remember your five senses?

They assume he once possessed his senses
to begin with that which is “owed” to you
is a scrumptious slice of the great myth.