As clear, so dirty

…As Clear as Humanly Possible.

Smithereen nomenclature setting,

off to Build-A-Bear.

Doubt they’ll have the

correct parts for the four horsemen.

Every speech planned to the syllable

public eyes morphed it

to dribble, leaving

an honest stain.

Slain courage no one has ever seen,

mainly mean to keep it--to keep it

clean for microphonys

sick of dead air.

Zoning out on a thoughts risk assessment,

life and limb to be excavated,

tragic eyes locked on a

stranger, can’t remember

my explanation.

Frustrated on the birth certificate,

tomb won’t have the patience for a coffin,

only ordered one ‘Fuck Off’ eulogy.

Losing touch in a rush foreshadowing

lobotomy test with all other

side effects ignored.

Talking too much to nothing to nothing listening.

Writing to not forget that

voice, to hear myself talk, for

Flash Burn Amore.

Rattling the cage with a tin cup, crime-

storming, not clear which of us is distracting

the staff. Always too quick when they come

for the utensil. Down to the sharpness

of the last pencil.

Alone with code written inside the

handle and a message activated by

body heat. Whilst dying for an author, I’m

following every vague step in the

instructions, hiding smoke birthing

from the resulting contraption.

SHhH. Already reached nickel under the

grave, hope is a useless commodity

weighing down the alleged wings, a jail

bird sings of a stolen exit formally excluded from

the scene, shoes of light running on the rain

drops, the feeling puts back ecstasy in its place.

Uber Goddess witnesses paused in awe, gone

insane by her godlessness.

I nearly tripped on their rocket.

Fuck home, posting dead or alive odes

for a day that can’t be resolved

unless the truth splits the difference

on the blame with a rusted hacksaw. Said I’m in love as a

noble claim but still choke on her name.

Knowledgeable of the shambles, our raging

rants mask the shame, two deaths defiers on

fire neither regretful they came.

Past Habits: Trading favors with A Demon.

Heart condition throwing hooks into

my intuition, breaking codes written

on the lady’s iris or so I’m told.

Must have been bold using a line so

cold to a splendiferous and jaded soul.

Miss remains undisturbed; my

ego left toothless on the curb. Second

drink. Word bouquet, not today,

high stakes. Jungle juice to sweeten

blues thrown away with the bloody

napkins. Taking notice of the juke box choice,

Frampton earning a wink, I nearly

blinked and missed it, there’s the fox I missed.

‘Miss or do you

prefer Mistress?’ A subtle nod, a ballsy boast

she tested promptly; her question laid

bluntly. ‘Can you abuse for clean shoes

or to avoid Johnny Law's noose?’ If I had to

chose how to make the news, it wouldn’t

be for a dizzy dame, Cult of trafficking, demanding a

following. ‘Martyr type in a

pleather jacket, all your legends will

say was real.’ Hot damn,

she stopped at second base

but at least we’re getting loaded. Holy moly,

I’m buying Miss Gonzo’s brand but

selling me on the company line that has me

dying for that power. three stabs later--

There we go.

She’s found her latest victim sharing

stories out of context, leaking her green

ooze. Midori Sour for the mood to ditch

this baby-faced rube. Missed her hyper

movements wafting hexes in the room.

‘Clever boy.’ Holy another round,

every cell’s suggestion involves the words

detrimental or unsound. Get a laugh out of

Miss over the way I control my microverse.

Weird but progress toward the herse to hell.

Call congress, we're

Lost Weekend’s new funniest mess.

Look at that cupcake being promoted

to fruitcake. ‘Not today or lately, maybe

on Thursdays.' Double check the

bar calendar, a birthday strikes as

odd as it is to need my ID to access my logs.

Taking her glass out the door saving

the bartender the chore. ‘I let him pick it

up in the morning.’

Lovely boots for a soundtrack

complimenting her body better than

my verbal dead roses but a lass can

be move by a tailor fit smoothness. Fucking

choked when her invitation read, ‘you cumming,

Lover Boy.’ Maybe it softened her forced

injections, violent beatings, later psychiatric bills

reliving good old days that brings

Dr. So and So to tears. Some

times laughing that puts the thunder

in my sails except she chuckled from the start.

Then I hit dawn realizing I never stopped hearing it.