Monsters Meeting *

I'd like the skulls in my closet
And the demons in my head
To all get together
With the monsters under your bed
They can all share some stories
Maybe have a drink or two
And as they plan their great escape
We'll wave goodbye to them as they do

Circles Made of Squares

Tiny little boxes form in my brain
Sharp and rigid
They're ungraceful
And they move in clumsy patterns
I shut my eyes hard
   and change them into circles
As they change,
   the crows-feet loosen their grip on my face
With no sharp points to hurt myself on
   the circles lighten the blow
   when they all collide

Lovers In The Mud

After our days are done,
Once we're through wandering around on our own,
As soon as the bullshit subsides,
Nature takes over
   and her positives find my negatives
   and the pull drags us up
   and out of the mud
Face first
Teeth full of dirt
Smiling as big as ever

At School

There is a freshness to all of their faces
A new-car-scent type feeling that'll decay
I take note of those who's smiles fade first
And I welcome them to the otherside
I tell them not to worry though
Because their parents are probably already here
Unfortunately
Waiting for them

Charlie

I heard a dog trudging through my driveway this afternoon
I didn't see it, but I knew it was a dog and a pretty large one at that
I knew because I heard the distance and timing between each of his legs,
His hind legs more audible, with the jingling of a collar displaying his home and name
I guessed brass and steel but I'm probably wrong
I also guessed his name was Charlie, and he was a yellow lab, I imagined
Charlie didn't run though, or sniff around, he just walked right through
Like we lived in a railroad style apartment, on his way to wherever he was going
I wondered all day what he was up to and why he was doing it
I still am wondering where his end point was, or if he even had one at all
I hoped he didn't
And to be honest I'm a bit jealous

Writers or Thieves

I feel bad for whoever falls in love with me
or with anyone who writes of their lovers like they are some tool
that we can use to build a mountain of words to surround them with.
And we build just to show others, the audacity is sickening.
Like a saw we will cut you down, your words into pieces
and your secrets so small they slip into that grey area I call public domain.
We will take everything you do and display it for the masses.
If you're connected to my writing and I,
your life will become scrap paper marked in bad handwriting
and halfhearted, oft-forgotten lines as I drive in my car,
as if you were simply that easy to forget.
Each conversation we have I'll listen but not to you,
instead I'm listening for things to steal, to strip away from our dialogue.
I've stolen from everyone I've ever slept with and even more from those I've loved.
You never think about it while it's happening and you don't realize it until it's already done with.