A famous poet said
the most important thing
about poetry is rhyme.

So I wrote a poem about you -
it's called, "You Suck."
I was saddened it took only two words
to describe how you fuck.

There was a time
When you let me see through your mask.
But now it's fogged with indifference,
I can't even ask,




"What's wrong?"

Prayer for the Dying

Hold him in your hand
And don’t let him go
Till he can walk on his own.

I guess, then,
I'll go with them
because
I have to.
Just so you
know,
I wanted you
to come,
but it seems
you don't belong.

I've done the strangest things
to get you
to notice me,
but the strangest thing
is that
you noticed me
when I was just being myself.

I wanted to say something to you
that no one
had ever said to another before,
but I'll just kiss you,
and if you kiss me back,
then we'll be doing something
I hope will happen again.

Setting

I watched the sun set holding
in my arms a small child bleeding
from his blue-lipped mouth.
Retrieving the floating body was futile
I knew.
But my eyes saw the bloated belly,
and against my mind's will,
my heart reached out and grabbed it.
Wasting my time and risking my life
was worth it: now my soul is satisfied.
The crag I sit upon is hot
from the pounding sun,
warming first my ass,
then the rest of my body.
The moon whispers softly,
showing me the way.
Rising, I grasp the boy
by the ankles,
swing him over my head,
around, around, around,
and let go
to the wet applause of the depths.
When the clatter becomes silent,
I sit down again, smiling, finally happy.