that is another man’s suicide if i kill myself there will be hookers

dawn is a coffin stars take their graves in morning come night, resurrect

i was born in a basket of apples out of place from the start always berated by questions like “where is your stem?” “why are you so round?”

he remembers the grapes as they would vine through his blo… like galaxies looking for a home welcomed with a kiss from his alwa… stars tickled his heart

dying of cancer saying her prayers they came to bathe her she asked if would hold her Rosary… “of course”

we fly down the highway looking for the next bar open on C… we each do a line and head on in flirt with lonely girls and take bumps in the bathroom

a man can be no more ready for Feb… than he is for his own death bringing in the second wave of win… icy flakes whipping in the wind relentlessly low temperature

sometimes a vampire wants to see t… but people of the village keep his… chained shut with garlic they wear crosses around their nec… so that if he ever does get out

Charles with his typewriter and bottles a bluebird held hostage in his hea… all the women he wanted all the jobs he didn’t

tailored finely to be worn proudly on the dance floor on the moon over top-shelf martinis over the rainbow

word traveled fast about the man with the crying ears sad with silence an absence of music left an absence in him

he does not to leave the vine out of any loathing for his kin he simply can not stay waiting around to turn to raisin knowing that out there somewhere

sipping cocktails in a dark corner… lit with cigarettes and neon we edged ourselves closer to the end of our stools to the end of our drinks

loading the chamber to kill that which he fears most one round will suffice