Red

It's a lounging bar

Full of maroon lunette booths.

Polyester button-downs

Slide on faux leather

As everyone drinks their cocktails.

Dingy, passe yet somehow hip,

The air is full of discussion

About John Waters and Johnny Unitas

And bleary, ember bulb light.

Do you remember Baltimore?

The historic district's knowledge

So near the dangers of the ghetto

And you hanging from a low branch

In that cerise dress.

A Night Out

The wind rushes across the field

Covered in matted hay.

It needles your ears

With a low, cold whisper

And takes with it

The flesh from your bones.

Trudging lead-footed

Up to the barbed wire fence,

You stop and look

To the steely blue orb

Showering white light

Into the harsh winter's air.

You reach out to grip

The top black cord

With dry, purple knuckles.

The piercing of your palm

Warms your numb fist.

Lifting the wire and

Sending your cramped legs

Through to more to more hard, dead earth,

Your socks are drenched in sweat

And black by now

From mud and lacerations.

The air appears before you

In intervals as

Warm, wet pockets dissipating.

You wonder starkly:

"...where the fuck are my shoes.."

welcome back

‘s hot glue on my tecate bottle.
a mountain like the one Aguirre came down.
an eagle has a T in the middle
...cause, it's cerveza.

the hot glue isn't hot anymore.
it ribbons like a woman’s hair.
spirals, clump, then stuck,
stuck where neck meets stump.

Place my bets on drink at midnight
cause day is not enough.
Place my bets on drink at midnight.
can't do what i want.