Road meets Gut

I wrote until my guts bled

Split like a buck in the road way staring into head-lamps

The variations of gray scripted into failed panoply

What I felt I can no longer think of

Like 1984 and the newspeak Big Brother silence

Convinced me it was never real

A photograph manufactured images of poems unwritten

Falling out in dyslexic alphabets spelling the banality of the physical

As if that is all one has the ability to verify

The motions, the locations never to go, roped up like war zones

Kaboom! and no room, no quarter for a rejoinder

Only shush soak in the absent repartee

I am praying for someone better

That makes me feel hope the way you did

Before the hard-drive wipe in chloroform

That makes me want to stay indoors and lament

To put up permissions to seed for longer

When the clock was up and I was clueless

I wished I would have gotten to throw the meat on the fire

Before you combusted out the door, savored for a linger

The almost taste is such a bastard

It’s like it never leaves a man

As if the real thing would show its flaws so much more clearly

Rattle the tongue and allow progression

Nah this is the worst, like a dream-thing hovering

Spectral haunting of what could-be, the horror of what could-be

Hoping for a brush with cannon balls to obliterate the haze

The way reality is in cinders

The way the guts bled, the armor never existed beyond skin

Pushed and pulled injected with faith

And spilled, just spilled, pooling like a god damn run-over prayer

Sometimes those high-heeled tires weigh a ton