New Skin

Walking forward
heavy on the shoulders
an invisible pall
death moves into my footsteps
as I lift a shoe, the reaper quickly steps down
into my footprint
the grimness is chasing me
we are close to being one …

Tired
the evenings are Chinese lanterns
floating in dark waters
slow movement
the low undulation of moaning
a woman’s voice
faint in the distance
whispering my first name
I see a seagull take flight
followed by a black crow
then a bottle rocket
streaming of red, blue, yellow
life yawns
crocodiles spin in the water
pirouetting like dangerous ballerinas
hungry for my
fresh flesh
warm blood.

Phone call
Chinese New Year
red pouch filled with burnt dollar bills
I make a motion
like I want you to come
here
but you text me madness and silly love
until I can’t stand
anymore
and still
my beckoning
goes
unrequited.

The dance is slowing down
the record skips
someone turns on the light
the room exposed
everyone scurries away
and I am standing here alone
again,
once again.

Where Are They Now

Life is the strangest thing going
all you have to do is
take the old photographs out
let the eyes wonder at all
the different people that pass through our lives
stop and think about
where this ex-girlfriend is now
that friend dead before his time
shallow acquaintances that shared the stage with you
for only a few seconds
and now have faded into
the maze of modern being.

Eddie is doing 3 yards in county
for violating parole
Bernadine moved to Frisco
with a man twice her age
Aunt Millie died from congestive heart failure
after that road trip to the Grand Tetons
Doug is a paramedic
Steve is a merchant marine
that Drag Queen from Laguna Beach
with the best blow
is now a seven digit salary commanding CEO
and Joanne is still living in Chicago
on the Northside with her mother
and she works on Michigan Avenue
still, to this day
and that homeless guy running through the streets
with a purple bed comforter wrapped around his shoulders
screaming, "I need money for a salad!"
is now eating his salad somewhere
in God's lonely heaven.

We wonder all the time where it goes
but Time doesn't care
what we wonder
it just moves, man!
like the demon light of an electrical current
a shark in the water
a long distance runner on amphetamines
moving, moving, moving
the ocean tide crashing in
and slowly stealing people from your shoreline
as it crawls back into the depths
and that little baby girl in that picture
your daughter
that mystery of becoming
is now 16 years old
she is someone completely new and different
and, in a few years
she will become someone different
yet again
as you stand
with your back to the sun
decomposing towards your own inevitable end.

I'm looking for some clarity
that divine shot into the heart of the question
and I miss them all so much
the ones that I talk to every day
the ones that I will never lay eyes on again
the ones that live in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico
the ones that broke my heart
the ones who stole my wallet
and got drunk and passed out on my kitchen floor
even all those that I made to feel bad
and swept under the rug
just because I could
and something told me I should
because it was high time
to discover others
and move on.

If your reading this
and wondering about me
just know I am thinking about you too
with all sincerity and apologies owed
I didn't mean to get you knocked up
or to not return your calls
it was sheer coincidence and no fault of accidental happenings
that I stole your car
and robbed that liquor store
in St. George
thanks for picking me up
when the money ran out
and, by the way
I am sorry I got you evicted
from your apartment in Houston, Texas
for pissing on the neighbors head
from the second story balcony
that shit was really uncalled for
so, the next time you pass through town
drop me a
line.

Crestview Drive

The last good times I spent drinking

were with a real gone gal in Chicago, Illinois
many a grand night spent in taxi cabs speeding towards kicks
I remember tall laughter and wild talk in dark bars
and humor in spades
dressed to the nines and full of spit and vinegar
adventures and tales, boy oh boy
how we did  hoot and holler and …

it’s a cold January night now
a Sunday in 2012
it’s all over
any spin of the bottle bringing bleeding and muted sorrow
an image of myself
coming apart in slow motion
any city laws against burying in the garden
I shake my head and tell myself
it’s not a comeback it’s a return

an uncomfortable reminder that time has passed

dust on my exposed bulb
shadows crouch in every corner of this room
the lifestyle I was living
unsustainable
hitting walls are fun
even funnier at 157 mph

a touch of melancholy on the rocks

drunk with nothing every night
not even nostalgia can save this

nothing like tile floors for the tango
crumbling to dirt and poverty
nothing like shadows to spin around with
and only the silence
to dip down to the floor
cold dead eyes in your arms

they’re all loose in here
memories with hatchets and hacksaws
I lay in bed chained to the night
nothing but another writer without a publisher

a musician without a label
an entertainer without a stage

I’m starving for a soft shoulder to cry on
the darkness is the desert and vice versa
no way in and no longer any way out

I’ll send a picture postcard care of

Chicago, IL.

Shawn Mafia | Last Call on Christmas Eve | CD Baby

Shawn Mafia | Last Call on Christmas Eve | CD Baby

Click the link above and Download "Last Call on Christmas Eve" & "All I Got For Xmas Was a D.U.I." MP3's for free! That's $0.00! Merry Christmas to all! Offer ends at Midnight ~ 19x13 ` TTBO

A Poem by the Google V-Mail Translator

Yes,
this is
Rainstuff calling Cincinnati
returning your call
you instead of mold inside the salt
think probably what it is
The One
the salt and thy air
and the water
makes it grow together,
it tends to follow,
mop and afterwards
it's Sarah
who looks kinda gray
and do not touch
that looks very good
but, I'm sure it's just mold,
but, either way, all that would
need to be done
is assault
tank care
what the salt?!

Tristan
with the U.S. Pass
some drive to the gym
but I forgot to do another
Jim
I was going to go work
but I have been changed
Bye,
Jim in.
Landris, I have been yellow
my whole life there
phone bench birthdays
bye.
You have a holy spirit
of a bedspread
since he says,
amen brother.

Embalmer's Lament

Bucket of dirty blood
bleached memories
that mop the floor
I’m manic depressive
over the dim hours
unresponsive
to your touch.

Upon the cold slab
chills rattle the spine
arterial injection making
faint eyes water
but I don't dare
spell out your fate
or
tell you that.

Silence upon the super glued lips
secured mandible suture
semi macue
and thus, you will speak no more
about those daring events
that delivered your death
two slugs to the stomach
one in the chest
upon a Halloween night burglary
gone mischievously wrong.

Sixteen years to nothing
trocar stab to the guts
aspiration of emotion
pumped up high
stitch the crime scene closed
naked in, naked out
eye caps seal
the upward stare
imprison the windows to the soul
rattled remorse stalks
the vanishing dreams
of the grieving
nowhere never looked so glamorous
in the rubbery pallor
of your stoic presentation.

I made a paycheck this afternoon
dropping the guts of the autopsied
into a bright red bucket
splashed with a hint of cavity fluid
stirred but not shaken
for the perfect martini of preservation
sipped not before a lifetime
that brushed up awful close
against the finality of your stillness
silent door bell,
like a dog whistle,
Dr. Death on the front porch
and, without further ado
I bleach mop the floors
cover you with a white sheet
wash my hands
wipe off my shoes
punch the clock
and walk out the door.

Tuesday Morning

A sad violin underwater
ten thousand slugs on a cold sidewalk
Northern Californian earthquake
pigeon night
decay of angry blue tarps
my brain makes sense of nothing
it is a tar filter
sucked through with nicotine smoke
terrible freeways
and pimps in pointed Gucci shoes.

Pass the butter
but, gone is the knife
hidden in her purse
waiting to spread blood
across the burnt toast of
battered feuds
and mechanical relationships
rusting in rain water

I am the fax machine
the timber dawn is burning
time clock hat
I wear you
for 40 hours a week
and still my
batting average
increases
little.

Nothing but the whole entire world
between us
I bruise easily
Facebook flagellation
I see the status changing
faster then dirty underwear
quicker then a hiccup
titanium bottle rocket
steel salamanders
slippery vacancy
my baby ain't no dim bulb
she lights up the entire
universe.

Cat scratch fever
William Grant Stills
my oboe is a hobo
a handkerchief of effeminate snot
fish tank
fog horn
saber tooth office supplies
hang me on a wall
without arms or legs
and call me
Art.