happy poem

your funeral, my trial

it was cold
and it was winter
and the snow covered the grass
like a goodbye kiss
from a moving train

it was cold
and it was winter
and she felt as lonely as a nail beneath the skin

it was dark under a yellow rose
and it was three unborn daughters ago,
i remember,
since you left
my dear love

it is winter
and my pain gets deeper with every step i take
damn this iron jim crow barrier
that hurts like a fire snake

i remember us naked in the hay bed
our skinny, teenage bodies, like a sad quick depart
your kissing my neck, my tearing apart heart,
my nails in your tender chest skin, your arms holding my breath
i remember i cried and tremble with every white little death

there were no birds
there were no flowers
there were no oranges
or ribbons
in the home we once shared

i was desperate
i remember this
i remember i felt like falling from a broken cliff
from his broken mouth
from his shattered skull

it was cold
and it was winter
and the snow covered her and the grass
like a goodbye kiss
from a crying lip

i opened the door of our little wooden house
and all the snow flakes
flew inside
like a summer breeze
and laid on my hair
and in my face
and on my pure silk dress

the naked trees looked like skeletons
a rotten smell came from i don't know where
she was so pretty
she was so pale
a crow was standing at the empty well

I can recall his eyes
his arms
the way he touched me
like a wolf’s eyetooth
like a dried up flower
but i hate myself because her face vanishes in the blue haze

it was cold and it was winter
and every word i ever said to you
aches in my finger like a wooden splinter in the summertime

it was cold and, like a worm,
i came digging from the ground
i came crashing through the storm
i came breaking all the doors

it was cold and it was winter
and the last thing I ever saw
was you asleep by that little timber
you with your beatific glow
and your paper-thin face in your brown cotton hands
easy like a killer

and i remember a single teardrop fell
somewhere over the snow
over the cold wind
over your closed eyes
over a gun
over our footsteps
and over a ring

outlaw

today i feel like 37 cuts in the wrists
like a dirty magazine cover
like a burning outlaw running for his horse
a happy cow in the slaughter house

today there’s people fighting with the police in the street
and the land is begging for money
and the cold blue of this mad city’s sky is so sharp it hurts my eyes

today i feel like a drive-by shooter
a rotten diamond
like a stupid dirty pigeon

today it’s enough,
and there’s a deaf afghan with an ak47,
and the fat, dead eyed, stalinist king
is looking at his own face in the mirror
with a proud grim in his mouth

today i feel like a beaten up greyhound with silver hair,
like a fallen angel too sad to complain,
like a black ink drop from your pen about to fall,
just inches away from the paper,
inches away from that woman you are about to draw

today it’s cold,
and blurry,
and i have lost too many trains,
or too many trains have missed me,
who cares?
what’s the difference?
it is a ghost town anyway

today amy,
my dear,
my far away friend

i wish i could be with some ladies
riding in a white pontiac convertible,
my hand on the wheel,
my hand on my eyes,
her left hand in my neck,
listening to the rolling stones,
on the road,
you know what it means,
the road,
whatever road,
our kind of road

today i feel like a rotten stop sign
a melancholic hyena
a singing scarecrow
a sweet goodbye
solomon under the temple’s wall

the road amy, i told you about it already...

today amy
i have run out of life belts
life boats
life jackets
life vests
life rings
life floats
rain wear
tape

today
i hit the white walls in my room with my fist
and prepare myself for the operating theatre
lights, camera, action

today,
writing this poem is the only thing that keeps me from dying
and, at the same time, is killing me,
weird
um?

today, amy
i have the stupid idea
that i know better than ever
that you are,
quietly,
sincerely,
listening to me
while i re-read these lines,
loud,
like a mother fucker