$11.82

A murder of cigarettes.
His insides on the outside
beneath an abstruse silhouette of a power line.
Pillowed rain pools in ruts; riddled woman’s sickened strut.
Trash burrowed beneath flooded posts
coasting the frame of a frozen pond
spelling out the name of mythical orphans.
But a blackened eye is perched so sweetly; a loaded view.
Its head tilt with an assuming stare
flaunting a flamboyant fickle thought.
Cocking its neck; slanted wings,
a figure eluding God.
Silkened feathers oiled in disease and stalking virus
it waltzes back and forth an infected trapeze
slowly observing the scene with ease.
A vigilant vision it sees
but an unusual absent of judgment it lacks.
Talons gripped this weakened twine; a softened bow
sinking with the weight of such a swagger.
Peering into a knighted sky
its wings broadened into a cloak reeking of death.
An embodied gargoyle, deserter of St Peters perhaps,
clutches its sides and glares into the breath of soul.
Humane eyes are not the only ones to agonize over.

Singapore Train

The secrets paint the madness in her eye,
lost in alleys of midnights ease.
A silhouette bounded in a leathers clutch;
a cigarettes smoke spells out a fated crutch.
Stranded in the shadows of a pouring rain
the moon in a Harlem street.
I’m high on Whiskey; I can’t see straight.
Awaiting a misgiving
beneath the eye of God.
Three men waltz off a Singapore train
and I take a sip of a papered bottle.
Whispers have never sounded so vivid
and breath so rancid.
A mural of a sunken ship
doomed to a gun street wall
only eludes the mist
of a maddened bliss unbeknownst
to a dead woman’s ribs.
A darts ash dances beneath my feet
like starving pigeons fighting for the remains.
They disappear just as fast as the smoke
blistering from my frozen lips.
Then a fist is drawn;
black trenches freckled with red,
groans and pains murmurs echo down this empty street.
Shadowed faces speak only by their breath
shaped by the chill of air.
I can’t help but smile.
A hearts race beats have softened now
to the sound of a child’s innocent weep.
All is utterly silent and a wind begins to patronize its speech
through the blades of my hair,
setting the icicles in my eyes corner.
I can’t help but feel somewhat guilty,
delighted her soul has vanish into an untaken sky.
Dear mother,
Forgive me but I have sinned.
Morals instilled in my birth have slipped into a shallow sleep
of which has lead to your ruins.
Now your dead
and awfully exquisite.
See you on the other side.