Iron Road

Up the Iron Road he came
Ignoring the brittle cries of
Protesting magpies
Circling the barbed wire fences
To hang their bloody prizes
Thorn birds hid in the blackberry brambles
And sleek eyed foxes
Dove to ground
At his passing footsteps
If he was worried
He showed it not
But continued to put one foot
In front of the other
As an indifferent sun burnt overhead
Turning his skin an angry red
To the West
Great fires burned
In the blackened timber
Licking candle tongues to the sky
Blotting out the horizon with great black plumes
In his chest his heart burned
Beat a beat for every step
Turned and boiled
Caught in his throat as he choked it down
To the South
The ocean rose up hills
And down cliffs
Flung itself into the ever greening tree line
As each emeraldneedle fought for the light
His eyes only saw the dark
The near black blue of deepest water
Where monsters turn
On the heels of broken ships
And wheel their mouths open
To devour whole
But here
On this Iron Road
He walked with purpose
If not a bit of a limp
And animals scurried from his path
To the under brush
His eyes never raised
His voice died in his mouth
And none marked his passing
Save the gentle puffs of red, red earth
That settled in the dead air
And did not stir again

Suicide Love Note

Who would want me?
I don't even want me.
I'm just waving from the pond
ducking under the water
with stones in my pockets
little drips of cyanide
leaving acid punches
to the inside of my cheeks
deep in love
with the hole
in the backyard
I dug it last year
keep the dog far hence
lest he dig it up again
I planted bone trees
in the bone yards
bleached by the sun
worn by the weather
I'm leaking love
spitting out charm
choking on need
trying to fuck my way
to forgiveness
and failing
and flailing
and tumbling
down the steps
of your indifference
fucking those pretty whores
in their pretty faces
I don't wanna
know anything anymore
why do I have to put up
with your guilt?
I did nothing
to deserve it
and I lack it entirely
I've got a note for you
I wrote it on my flesh
in the form of black eyes
and fucked up
reasonable decisions
Love is the lie they tell
to you
when they want
your legs to open up
and your cunt to spill out
I fucked the world
looking for you
and you would rather
kill your heart
than let me know you
I found the reason to die
and it was in your eyes
the whole fucking time

It's Okay, I Know the Beast

I want you dark and dirty
frowning
deep with concentration
as you burrow into my eyes

I can't remember the colour
but I remember
your muscles sliding under your skin
I remember the Apache mounting the hill

traveling up the length of me
I want you slipping
losing your grip on my thighs
falling down river sides
drowning in cunt juice

I saw the cold creeping into you eyes
I thought I was a poet
I thought I could capture this in stupid flowery language
I fed you my song
the song I forgot the words too
and could only hum the tune

you climb those mountains with her hands
mine trapped right here in this bed
I want you between bloody sheets
bloody land between my legs
I have no ground
no ground to plant your feet in

the stars have abandoned me
the ocean spat me back out
young girls lay flowers at your feet
I have only thorns
pretty fat thorns lining my vaginal walls

swaying breasts
filling your mouth
milk of numb gods
with dumb mumbling glazed over eyes
I stumble on the stairs outside your door
and leave pieces of my knees
for you to step on in the morning

I am not beautiful
though I often wish I could be
that lake was as green as my eyes
I wanted to take you there
watch the dragonflies mate in the sunset
show you where the moss met the stream
where that black tail disappeared forever
stepping softly between worn rocks
and rainbow trout

I am too ugly
to bring home to your mother
too monstrous to admit to
rail car teeth
scrapyard smile
backwoods gait
stupid clicking tongue
pale lips
and broken fingernails

Too crooked to care
Too frail to stand
Too stupid to love

you've got better things to do
and I've got a pile of blankets to hide beneath
come find me
when you have no prettier skirts
to slip your hands under

Born Wrong (Hillbilly)

I was born on the wrong side of the tracks
to the wrong sort of people
in that wrong countryside

our fertile feilds
only housed herds of wild black sheep
turning our souls over
to family absorbed from all points

a big white dog
chained in the front yard
barking at strangers

half a dozen junked trucks
up on the flattened road
the old trailers out back
wild roses enclosing the property

the house full of books
stacked in great big cases up to the ceiling

the tourists stopping to take pictures
on the long back road down to the ferry
asking why anyone would live like this

"but isn't that garden pretty!
oh how quaint!"

us silently pissed at every one of them
breaking the calm hot day
with their gawking
'we live here to get away from you fuckers'
we mumble out loud

an old rich man
looking in the door to say
"oh how cozy!"

to that small cabin
kept warm by my great grandmother's cookstove
and decorated with my grandmother's paintings

the ghost standing at the window
frowning at guests
my mom chasing trigger happy
American hunters from the 400 acres of grasslands and hills

"Can't you fuckin' read the 'NO HUNTING' signs!"

attentive dog close to her heals
letting out a loud bark
warning the bears to stay away

up in our fruit trees
stealing big fat pears
ripping the branches down

"Goddamn it!" my mother yelled
setting the dog on them

they say we were born wrong
no wealth
no health
no city streets
no shopping districts
no fast cars
no big buildings
no theatres
no banks
no convenience stores

only miles upon miles of land
treacherous in its beauty
stretching out to the horizon

the careful wind blowing down the valley
bring the heady scent of alfalfa blooms
and baking grass in the sunlight

only the constant rush of the creek by the house
clear water over coloured worn rocks
with green grass snakes fishing at the edge

fat crickets singing love songs
and orange-bummed bees buzzing
in my mom's catnip bush

we were born all wrong
we live all wrong
at just the right time
in just the right place
on ancestral homestead
down the slopes of this never ending country

curse your cities
curse your highways
curse your speed
and curse your inability to understand

the simple joy of fresh baked bread
and a fire in the camp pit
out back
starring at a million billion stars
stretching on the cusp of forever

Poems Aren't Worth a Goddamn Thing

broken cracker
water straight from the tap
two day old bread
and salty soup

they come 'round here
offering
we have something for you
quick before it's all gone

you know there are more hungry than you
look at all these books
piled to the ceiling
sell them all and buy yourself some shoes

I'd rather wander barefoot in the rain
than give up a single word
each letter has more worth
than a heap of right opinions

each author a better friend
than a wringing religious hand
held out if you only believe
what we believe

I eat stale biscuits
the milk long gone
but still I am not alone
each word, each syllable
a stronger gateway to heaven
than any clammy outstretched appendage
crossing itself
with a backhanded weak smile
it's purveyor