UNCONDITIONAL
SHOTGUN LOVE
With dedication.
And love.
My mouth takes
in the long hard cold steel.
No secrets
revealed.
My soft, vulnerable
flesh.
Back it will
peel.
I’m going
home.
Very few will
be sad—More will be glad.
Frozen, I sit.
On my throne.
Glaring forward.
Through a mask
of bone.
It’s
a lie to say you care.
Grand priorities.
Distracted thrills.
A barren stare.
Worthy communion?
Never there.
The shotgun
accepts me.
It judges not.
No matter how ugly.
Oh, how hard
I fought.
But signing
yearbooks, we are not…
With a big
toe, I fondle the trigger.
Pushing down.
Pushing down.
Pushing down.
I can’t go back.
A last wish for your heart to be bigger…
Too late.
Call the coroner.
Put my head in a sack.
- February 1990 -
------------------------
Nights Too Long
Too long.
Too long.
The nights are too long.
The nights are too long.
The nights are way too long.
The nights are way too long.
Unless you were with me…
Then they would be too short.
- April 1990 -
-------------------------
The True Confessions of a Virus
We attack you.
Our survival depends on how hard we try.
Sneaky, we enter your mouth.
Nose. Or eye.
Most often you whimper.
Simply curing the signs of our presence.
Treating yourself without care.
Helping us. In
essence.
We actually help you.
Giving a time to slow.
No more stupid go-go.
It’s an excuse.
It even happens to the boss.
It’s okay.
It’s not our loss.
We’d kill you.
If we could.
Have you buried.
In a box of wood.
Don’t worry.
Stay up late.
We’ll work hard.
To seal your fate.
Help us out.
We’ve helped you.
A billion more!
Don’t be blue.
Suicidal.
If goal obtained.
Either way.
We die.
But you.
Up and down.
Sometimes only drained.
Your chemicals get bolder.
But we’re much older.
They weaken the system.
Giving us time.
To finish…
Our crime.
When you get smart.
And fight back.
Total and passive.
Our numbers.
Will no longer be massive.
No time to adapt.
It’s often a trap.
Beaten.
We writhe, drown and shrink.
Escaping.
Down the bathroom sink.
