punching bag

I’m sorry
about last night. my
soul was eating itself
alive, my mind
turning inside out
like a coat,
fears and rage, guilt and sadness
chasing their tails
in circles and
my art needed fuel – I had
to get some feelings out,
it felt like dying –
so I rifled through my
pockets, found an old wound,
a small frustration
hidden deep
inside my heart,
left over from those
olden times when I
carried a sad torch
that was never needed
or wanted, and I
used the feelings, coupled
with the memory, to light
a bitter bonfire
to burn off the excess
pain.

the things
that weigh upon me
the most are the ones
I fear so much
I cannot write a word. so
when a safer outlet
presented itself,
I took it. I see now how
it was a coward’s move.

next time I’ll try harder
to find a way to let
the real demons out.
or at least
find a better target.

behind the curtain

can’t you ever just
for once fucking
come out and say
what you mean and
mean what you say?

do you even have a heart
under all those cries
of wolf, wolf, looking
for your Little Red
Riding Hood? or does a
clockwork ticker beat
itself to death inside
your Tik-Tok chest?
fee, fie, foe, fun. I
smell the blood
of a charlatan.

Continue reading behind the curtain

that bird

that bird, the lone little guy
who came to visit me
in my aerie, and
who ate some of my crumbs?
I thought he might
have been a grackle – a
delicious word for a
delicious-looking bird,
at least to my salivating cats – but
further investigation
(i.e. Googling)
tells me he was not.
he was merely
a common blackbird. they’re
not very big – I can see
how it could take
four and twenty of them
to make a decent pie.

still, he was very cute
and brave, and it’s not
his fault he doesn’t have
a better name.