Boise Scape

© Oct 24, 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Behind his back is a looking glass.
In front of his chest is a woman’s head.
On both sides, there’s a casket.
The woman looks up with missing teeth.
She bleeds from her closed mouth to the grass.
Laughing gas is in an hourglass, but she’s dead.
She drops to the grass as if from his armpit.
Shit! He reeks, and the dead is beneath.

He’s starving. He walks and sees a window.
A rattlesnake bites his right mastoid bone.
He’s too narrow-minded to care,
But he walks during the humidity.
No rain, but lightening in the desert. It’s see-through.
Down, he sees the woman’s gravestone.
Her name’s unknown; that keeps his stare.
Air is dead. He can’t see.

Damn! He awakes with cruel flashbacks.
It’s the Summer Solstice. He’s in a circular pool.
A bridge leads to a basketball court,
Which is in the center.
He tries to think, but he can’t relax.
Half-naked women stare at him as if he’s cool.
When he steps out the pool, he’s no longer short,
But the wind unnaturally feels like winter.

He questions his name and all he knows.
He’s surprised it doesn’t snow. Clouds fade.
Two years pass, and the dead woman is forgotten,
But he sees an elderly woman nailed against a clerestory,
In the position of the Messiah. Blood shows.
She’s naked. He runs like he’s man made.
He reflects on being a one percent, cool has-been,
Fainting with the breaths of an allegory.

His memory’s back. Footsteps shake the ground,
But he can’t move. He has a blackout.
Fear troubles him. He awakes to run away.
Tomorrow’s turning around, but he’s running.
Confused, he can’t hear a sound,
But jolts pass a woman he can’t live without.
She’s engaged at a cookout. He won’t stay.
It’s a normal day when his life’s cunning.

Moan Sick

© Oct 5, 2016. All Rights Reserved.

The pestilence of reality is surreal,
However, dreams are utterly dead.
It’s mayhem, for she loses sleep for what she lost,
As if grieving over a partner.
Her head undulates over a squeal.
Soft, beige pillows cushions her water bed.
Her eyesight is redder than the holocaust.
It’s clearer. Three tall angels are standing above her.

Their faces diminish.
She can’t move nor scream,
But she stares in anguish.
It’s too real to be a dream.

A flashback occurs as she rolls her eyes.
Her body contorts as she sees her past.
She’s at the car wash; her friend’s shot in the driver’s seat.
She’s a passenger staring at a masked runner.
Blood leaks from his forehead. She cries.
An owl stares following her. He’s fast.
She runs, but her steps won’t last. She faints from the heat.
The owl gnaws on her left ear. Her life gets funner.

Rosewater trickles down her cheeks,
As she reflects on breaking a rose window with a baseball.
Hyperventilating, she hides in a rathskeller as a girl shrieks.
All eyes wander from excessive alcohol.

Invisible knives cut down her heel bones.
She bleeds. Her first incisor tooth’s yanked out by nothingness.
3rd degree burns haunts her heart,
And compound fractions rapes her virgin rib cage.
Still, she can’t scream, but she hears moans and groans.
Her right pinky then dislocates. The room smells like piss.
Her left shoulder blade stretches to her tailbone. Her body’s apart.
In so much pain, she has no rage.

Her ankle ligament dislocates, and she has gluteal strain.
Like an abduction, the angels move closer.
Finally, she screams and the angels vanish. She’s sane.
The angels are gone, but she’s a warrior.

It’s a sexual deadline. A sharp pain runs down her spine.
She reflects on standing on the edge of a bridge. It rains.
A storm chaser pulls to the side of the road.
It’s her mother who abandoned her for years. She talks her to tears.
Suddenly, she sees the sunshine,
But her grip pulls her mother to the underground hurricanes.
With night blindness, she faces the somber road, but still isn’t bold.
She’s cold, and her life, she fears.

In the mirror, she sees her stepfather raping her.
She’s brutalized like a deformed baby in a brawl.
There’s quietude. Her father’s rich,
But enraged, she works to feed herself illegally.
She’s a burglar, and advanced her life further.
Her eyes scream murder when the weak stands tall.
Strangers advise her to bond with the rapist. Bitch!
Yet, she rips the Bible and feels free.

Demonize the wise and close her eyes.
She reflects on a subject she perfects.
How her mom tied her to a surfboard to hear her cries.
She was alone in the ocean no one directs.

She calls her father to forgive him.
He overdoses, and she smirks.
The angels return, and she hears voices.
Dizziness and dilemmas occur. She’s sick,
Puking blood as if though she can swim.
Nothing seems right, but everything works.
She’s dying without choices,
As the homesick lunatic.