We love
Like thieves
The important things
We run
From the only law
That could save
The society
Between us
We don’t carry
Our horrors together
We bury
Our burdens
In basements
We’re too scared to enter
To scarred to return to
The honor among us
When we learn
Neither of us
Were following the rules
And we can hear them closing in
We’ll escape
To the wilderness
Run between mountains
We find
We can’t climb

And the sirens trigger
A jackal orchestra
They converge
To pick our bones clean
And countless
Howling angels call you home.

Fire Season

It doesn’t take much
A culmination of
The smallest sparks
Pushing toward a center
As an ant army
Returning home
Centripetal pull
And all the brush
That should have been removed
Just can’t wait
To indulge itself
In the only task
Its lifeless
Body could be good for

To gather companions
And collect the sparks
For the love of flame
Pushing boundaries
Of color
In red and orange
And yellow
Until it’s all black
And the only recourse left
Is to watch it
Thrash through
Field and forest
In one great wave
And all that’s left alive
Clinging to branches
Hiding under rocks

Poor firewalls
As the only choice left
Is burn

And one day
As a breeze
Kicks up dust
Across the black
Restless abandon
You consider
How easy it would have been
To stamp out every spark
Had you only known their worth
Had only considered their plan
But the cold breath in your mouth
The extinguisher in your hand
Was anything but
And it becomes clear that
This was no accident

For it’s hard to deny
That love exists
Between a flamethrower
And everything
Prepared to burn.


When you left
You left
A piece of you
Near the front door
When you left
You left
A piece of you
On the back porch
And it taunts me
When you left
You left
A piece of you
On the bathroom floor
When you left
You left
A piece of you
In the bedroom
And it haunts me

I couldn’t take
You always
Falling apart
Couldn’t let myself
Catch it
And fall apart

When you left
All you left
Were pieces of you
They’re withered
And lifeless
And bound to stay
Just where they are.

June Gloom

This is almost five years old. Three people have ever read it. Never expected to actually put it out, but with the weather every morning I can’t help but think of it. Enjoy. Or not.

“We may as well be in fucking Ohio,” Robby complained.

It had been six straight days of clouds and temperatures in the low to mid 70’s.  It was by no means appropriate for the season, at least not to this extent.  Hollywood’s degenerate social drones kept suggesting that the weather was evidence proving or disproving the existence of global warming, depending on their political sway.

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