Her love is a
crowbar into
the stomach.
It’s a gun fight
in a closet.
It’s a black hole
in a paper cup.
Her love is a
grenade in a
gumball machine.
An electric chair
in a summer dress.
It’s a Third Reich parade.
Now i drive fast
with my eyes closed.
Scream into bottles
of Chardonnay.
Pick fights with
ghosts in long ago
basements
while looking
for reasons
in a cereal box
and empty parking lots.
I’ve fallen for you
and I’m still falling
like out of a plane
without a parachute
or from a building
without a net
without a care
without a worry
without any concern
at all
it’s just so rare
that sometimes
it just feels good
to let yourself
fall
to feel yourself
falling
and when I hit the ground
as I surely will
it will be with
open arms
and a
smile.
This world has shrunken to a room
filled with maniacs
and guns.
Everything
outside the window
looks like it’s either dead
or on fire.
Anything between is only deception.
Corpses rush through traffic
so preoccupied
with time
as the coyotes wait for darkness
sitting fat upon their faces.
The sun reveals
the presence of walls
unacquainted
with so-called mercy.
The sun rambles
it goes on and on
like the last drunk
at the party.
Nature wants not your genius
if you’re so smart
then why can’t
you clean up
your mess?!
I suppose that it doesn’t matter
the sea will claim us all
in the end
whether we understand it
or not
and I do believe
that it is time
for another drink.
Something sweet
Something dark perhaps.
In the elevator
I spotted an empress
and I would priest for her,
doctor her pains,
soldier her wars;
I would do many,
mighty things
all within the span of
30 seconds
-then she was gone
and things returned to
as they were.
She didn’t just break your heart,
she stomped on it
purposefully
against the curb
then set it on fire
with a blowtorch
and a mad grin
until it was well done
eating it
afterwards
at a fine restaurant
casually piercing it with
silverware
between long sips of
red wine
and tossing the scraps
to the dogs
while laughing
maniacally
at the moon.
hernanjmonzon.com 