Tag Archives: poet

A Letter in Blood From the Heart of a Madman

I once wrote a woman
a letter
penned in my own blood
but I had disposed of it
before I could mail it
in fear that she would
think me mad
and rightfully so
because it seems the
only creatures
that would truly understand
these days
are the ones that stagger
across the common room
of any given nuthouse
as I stagger across
the impossible realm
of every day.


A Letter and a Gun

I fell in love with my first cousin.
Yeah, I know.
But I’m not ashamed of it.
You should have met her
then you might understand.

My last night in Buenos Aires
we got drunk and I
put my hand on her knee.

That was it. I realized what I was
doing and removed it and
she never seemed to notice.
But I was mortified
for so long afterwards
not for what I felt but that I had almost
acted on it.

A year later she had gotten
accepted into medical school
and was leaving her boyfriend
to attend
a few cities away.

That did not sit well with him so
he went to her apartment
and shot her in the head
before turning the gun on himself.

My aunt had discovered the grisly scene
the next morning.

One of the last things my cousin had written
was a letter to me.

I have a safe beneath my bedroom desk.
It contains my birth certificate, passport
and other vital documents
along with copies of each book
I have written
and that letter
right here
at my feet.

I still have not read it.

Some things never truly die.


After the After-Party

After all the beautiful woman have
fucked your soul
until there is nothing left.

After everywhere you go
all you see are the damned
-the expressionless eyes
hanging lifelessly over vacant grins
-the halfwit producers of the mounds
of consumer waste
piling up at the edges of the earth
for nothing.

After everything you touch
bleeds dry and shatters
leaving you to ruminate
as the days pass
like bottle after bottle
and cigarette after cigarette.

After the perpetual storm
raging inside of you
biting at the back of your mind
with the total abandonment
of a new lover
finally diminishes
into empty space.

After the last of the world’s natural resources
have been squandered for cash.

After the last tree standing has
unceremoniously fallen.

After the overwhelming media machine
has simply swiped sanity from all lands.

After the last virtuous girl
spreads her legs gladly
for any one of the countless, misguided devils
that run our planet.

After the after-party.

After all the wine has been drank.
After all the pills that allow the dead to dream
have been consumed.
After the last junkie has fallen asleep forever
and you are left willing to
shake the heavens
for some angel dust.

After everything
that has come to pass

I will still be here
with this damn pen
trying to pound out a page.

Rest assured.

Angry (Over Nothing) Broad at the Bar

I was at the bar
and looked beside me.
A young black girl
with orange hair
and purple lips
was standing right there
looking at me.

I returned to minding my drink.
I knew from those eyes
that there was something
wrong with her
and I wasn’t very interested
in finding out what that was.

I looked back anyways.

She was still there,
still looking at me.
“Yes?” I inquired.
“You gonna buy me a drink?”
I really didn’t like her face and
her attitude stunk like shit so
“Fuck off.” I said
with the ease of a seasoned veteran.

She gave me the look of death.
I gladly accepted it
and returned to the bar.

“Faggot!” She said
as she shoved past me
really overly-pissed about nothing
so I slammed my drink down
ordered another
and I waited for a
problem to start
with one of her asshole friends.