Thought Patterns

wet slime brick pit
vertical walls with no handholds
gotta room at the
don't give a shit hotel

bum f-ed shit head
i don't care don't hear what you say
i'm too broke to fix
apathetic stoned court

cry scream yell punch
the pit is full of anger rage
with nowhere to go
spiritless motor lodge

crossways sideways
upways and downways it's the same
it won't ever change
down at the slime pit inn

Can you tell I'm in a funk?

What light through yonder window breaks…
Old Man Snyder's gonna be mad
'Cause the moon done went and broke his window.
He tol' it not to be shooting moonbeams
That close to the house.
But it did and now look.

##

Two little fishies in the tank
Two little fishies.
Take one out
Bury it in the toilet
One little fishy in the tank.

##

My country 'tis of thee
Ruled by a Shrub
Who would be a tree
Of him I bitch.

the smell of rain
on dry ground
you can hear it sigh

lightning flashes
thunder booms
the window rattles

the dogs run to hide
afraid of
the end of the world

"There's a lot of mystic in these mountains." Hollen nodded toward the tree covered hills. "There's things that happen up there you'd not believe 'til it happens to you."

"Like what, Papaw?"

"Balls of fire that dance like butterflies. Voices that call you by name when you are all alone."

"Balls of fire? Now, Papaw, you're just spinning tales."

"No, boy, I'm not. Like I said, it's not 'til it happens to you that you can believe it."

Thought I'd re-post the prose I wrote last year.

So, called your Mama yet?

Called your Mama yet?
The woman that birthed you?
Had labor for 48hrs in a
snow storm/thunder storm/heat wave/insert-appropriate-cataclysm
while stuck in rush hour traffic?

Twice a year, maybe three,
Mama expects to hear from you.
Mother's Day, her birthday,
and maybe at Christmas.

Called your Mama yet?
The one that picked you out
from all the others
on the orphanage list?

The one that waited
for the court to decide
who was your mama,
who was family.

Called your Mama yet?
the one that lived down the street
the one that you went to
with questions and problems

Called your Mama yet?
Both of them?
The woman that birthed you
and the woman that married her?

Mama - she who patched your booboo
she who said your clothes didn't match
who said your hair was perfect
and that pimple didn't show.

Something is broken
Not like the first morning
More like the rip-tide
Took me without warning

Tears without reason
Anger without a goal
Disapointment and
Pain: all out of control

Why were all my dreams
Built upon sifting sands
And gone when I wake
Not at all like I planned

Winter is hushed
but the smallest sound
is heard
as snow hits the ground
with a hiss.

The world around
me is so quiet
as if
all had gone to sleep
or gone south

But spring comes and
the noises return
so free
unrestrained and loud
and alive