The stranger knocked upon the door,

A creaking, wooden throb,

And someone on the other side

Unlatched and turned the knob.

Uncertainty, a soft, "Hello,"

And, "May I use your phone?"

The person on the other side

Appeared to be alone.

An observation taken in,

No pictures on the wall.

He pointed somewhere down the way-

"Go on and make a call."

The thunder boomed; the stranger stalled

As wires were cut instead.

The gentleman began to sense

A subtle hint of dread.

A conversation thus ensued-

"So what has brought you out?

The rain has flooded everything,

And wiped away the drought.

Say, did you walk, or did you drive?

Why don't I take your coat?"

The stranger slowly moved his arms,

A sentimental gloat.

The water from the pouring skies

Enveloped cloth and shoe.

"Say, would you like a place to sleep?

I'll leave it up to you."

The person on the other side

Discarded his mistrust.

The stranger said his tire was flat,

And shed the muddy crust.

"The phone won't work," he also said.

"It could just be the storm.

Perhaps I will stay here tonight,

To keep me safe and warm."

The patron of the house agreed.

He hadn't seen the wire.

The chilly dampness prompted him

To quickly build a fire.

"You have a name? They call me Ed.

My wife was Verna Dean.

She passed away five years ago

And left me here as seen.

I guess it's really not so bad.

We never had a child.

I loved that Verna awful much,"

He said and sadly smiled.

"No property to divvy up.

The bank will get it all.

Say, do you want to try again

To go and make that call?"

The stranger grinned and left the flame

As to the phone he strode.

Within his pocket, knives and twine

In hiding seemed to goad.

A plan was formed- he'd kill the man;

Eviscerate him whole.

The twine would keep him firmly held;

The knife would steal his soul.

A lusty surge erupted hence;

A wicked bit of sin.

The stranger hadn't noticed yet

That someone else came in.

About the time a shadow fell,

He spun to meet a pan.

The room around him faded out

As eyes looked on a man.

A day or two it seemed had passed,

And when he woke all tied,

The stranger gazed upon old Ed

Who simply said, "You lied."

Reversing thoughts, the moment fled

And Ed said in a lean,

"No worries, stranger. None at all.

Hey, look, here's Verna Dean!"

He looked upon a wraith in rage;

It seemed his little lie

Combusted in a burning fit-

He didn't want to die.

So many victims in his life,

Some fifty bodies strewn.

And now he was the victim; now

The pain to him was known.

The stranger fought against the twine,

And noticed by his bed

The knife once in his pocket left

A trail of something red.

A bowl filled full of organs sat

As Verna poured some salt.

She exited with all of them.

"You know, this is your fault.

We demons wait for just the day

The guilty take the bait

And play with matches one last time-

I simply cannot wait

To taste the death within your flesh;

The venom in your gut.

So now you know the way they felt-

Hey, you've got quite a cut!"

The person on the other side

Removed his human skin-

Before his wife came back for more,

He offered with a grin:

"Say, stranger, is there anything

You'd like to say at all?"

I looked at all the blood and said,

"I'd like to make that call ... "

Afternoon at the table

out there the clouds sit grey

and the homeless stay lean

the end of summer

the end of high noon

the end of heat and sweat

and chlorine nose

the short autumn closes in

on the mountain

white noise TV

brain rotting in the fucking

vacuum of this town

keep the heart heavy, though

keep the heart heavy and

your next move close

any town or or city or place

that constantly reminds you

of your own death is a fucking

bad place to be

sitting here thinking about

the water, the coasts, even

the lesser weight of other

deserts

thinking about old love

gone or moved on

thinking about Italy

thinking about the blood orange moon

over the fields of South Dakota

somewhere on a road there

out in that space

lost but freed from all the bullshit

all the stress

all the subterfuge and sacrifice and

sallow skin from fallow thoughts

from fear

we put ourselves where we do

kill the TV

blast High on Fire and tap shuffle

catch up on what you know

the metal thatʼs missing

let it bleed into Miles Davis

kill the tech and set the needle

carefully onto

Seven Steps To Heaven

pour the shot

itʼs just a Wednesday

itʼs just a page thatʼs despised

you over a long break

but they're everything

refracted and reflected

the sadness of a white moon

saxophone

the heart of a hungry cat

with nowhere and nobody

while the day becomes the page

like it used to be

like itʼs supposed to be

all the lost wind of you

all the lost feeling

the numbness that seeps in

being pushed back

the worries for nothing

let the record turn and

ignore the inner voices

pitted against you

let them wait

the blood inside you

only wants to survive

caustically or creatively

and it will end in either.

and to forget the words

that save you will

end you that way

to forget the blood orange

moon you've fought to

protect and preserve

to let the grey days

and sentences slip through

the cracks of false busyness

through tiny screens

and mass disconnection

will end you that way

all the disgraces that quietly

build upon the heart

the mind

swimming in your blood

reaching for shores

lost and forgotten

under a sun that burns

away the film of such

disgusting things

the long and short works

of yours

the long and short

nights and days

without escape or purpose

destroy this

while out there the clouds

sit grey

and the homeless

stay lean

you know where you belong

where itʼs always been

waiting for you

afternoon at the table

flip the album

and set it down on

Side 2

let the garbage wait

for someone else

in all the grey areas

in here you

have mountains

to burn.

I would rather you remember me as a star

Worshiping me for sewing solar systems together

Blinding, searing, a white dwarf

One rotation away from exploding

Consuming even black holes in all of their might

I would rather remember you as a lightning storm

Striking, lighting me aflame, electrocuting

Brightening up my world for only seconds,

Giving me just enough to stick around

Teasing, taunting, tormenting

Blackening my flesh, you ate away like acid

You burnt out my stitches then blamed me

For falling apart

But instead I'll remember you for your waters

Feeding, rejuvenating, growing me stronger

And you'll remember me for my willingness and understanding

For drinking your rainstorm even when we both knew it was polluted