Jammed into a sardine can

ripping through the sky

at thirty-five thousand feet,

no one asked me

if I favored cock or pussy

for over two hours—

I guess it was either altitude sickness

or they didn’t give a shit.

We all shared our misery the same,

hating the ungrateful little bastards

kicking our seats

more than each other’s sexual orientations.

And when we lowered beneath the clouds

and when Florida revealed itself,

I raised my finger at the window

to the governor,

and offered a greeting from America.

According to Disney

my trip was soon to start

in the Gayest Place on Earth

DeSantis must have forgotten which State he ran for.

The man sleeping

upon the bus stop bench

blocking your view

of this month’s

burger ad,

paid for by the fast-food joint

around the corner,

is hungry,

and his name is Bert Huggins,

if you cared to know.

Children

of the world,

call me Daddy

because I’ve decided

on becoming a priest,

so, I can finally tell my lies

without anyone questioning me.

Hold onto my every word

as if I am God himself,

and I’ll offer you penance from the pulpit

making you curtsy before me

like obedient sheep.

I am merely a Shephard

controlling his flock,

and your only job is to baa.

Cry your tears at the altar

into the kneeler trough

so, I can later bless

and bathe your babies in it.

Offer me your starving tongues

on Sundays,

then confess your darkest,

most precious secrets

the other SIX.

We are all but sinners,

but I am a God among Men.

If he made me in his image,

then why shouldn’t I be worshipped?

SIX Hail Marys

and a guaranteed seat in heaven

just for me

because I wear this costume

and you don’t.

Forgive me, lord,

for I am the father

who hath sinned

too many times,

trading one black suit

for another,

and I murdered myself

breaking commandment SIX,

but remember

that the filtered city water

waiting for a lever flush

from the confession toilet

already washed away my filth

by the baptism

blessed on me

in your name,

as if it never happened.

Thanks for that.

Amen.

I am but reborn and righteous now,

refreshed and clean,

living tax-free and untouchable,

and now

I AM YOUR GOD.

Money doesn’t make the man,

his word does,

but loose lips grow quiet

in dark alleys,

not Nasdaq floors,

so, any decent man

would be detoured

from doing the right thing,

especially one with

mouths to fill

and a roof to keep.

I hang my head low

watching the ground move

beneath me as I walk home.

My pride and ego

both cleansed

by the emptiness of the morning,

but it’s within the shadows that I blend in.

I wear the black for them.

Upon my broken back

they eat their breakfast,

and wash it all down

with discounted milk

and cartoon giggles,

using my stained shirts as napkins.

I don’t care

because as long as they’re full,

they sleep well,

and make it to the bus on time

I am doing something right.

God knows there Ain’t much

I’ve gotten right,

but I’ve never begged, borrowed,

or cheated to survive.

Some do

and some win,

but most pay the price.

Living among the filth

keeps you true,

and most of the time

the truth is all you have—

And being quiet

adds another box on that calendar

to be Ex’d

filling you with the hope

that you’d be lucky enough

to find a way out

before it’s too late.

Even if all the riches

filled every ocean,

today’s children would drown

trying to swim them

because uncharted waters

and false horizons lead to certain death—

But wearing a suit of black

can be a heavy burden

dragging you under just the same,

especially as the riptide of the world

pulls at you.

So, why teach them how to wear that heavy suit?

Because I want them to struggle enough

to learn how to swim upstream,

and be learned enough to know

when the water’s too rapid

to get out.

I want them to hold their breaths knowing

that air will eventually come back

and they will resurface

because every night

they watched their dad disappear into the shadows

always bringing the sunrise back with him.

I want them to know

if he did it

then they could too.

A magic mirror

only exists in fairytales,

but here

there’s no

wisdom hidden

within the glass;

Yet I still stare at it

waiting

for something

amazing to reveal itself,

but the person

glaring back at me

is just as fucked up,

just as scared,

and is entirely confused

about the future

as I am.

I say,

fuck that guy.

He’s no help to me either.

There’s a silence

at dawn,

when half the world’s asleep.

A firebird,

hangs just above the horizon.

A blue Jay gathers her nest

into a twig-wrapped bowl

to hold a future hawks breakfast.

A bass breaches

the lung dimension,

treading the waters

of unexplored places,

skipping across Lilly pads,

and pipedreams

then disappears back into

a shallow grave

for an unlearned kid.

Either this is a peaceful start

to a beautiful day,

or it's the calm before the storm.

Only time will tell.

This moment of silence is just for me.

Cut out of a time when sleep's avoided,

I sit alone.

A bird chirps a song of morning dew,

and sometimes others join in—

A chorus ensues.

The sun has hours to arrive.

Once in a while, the hiss of a car zips through.

Moisture on tires ripping across asphalt

then back to silence.

There’s something in the silence that can’t be engineered.

Because it’s more a feeling than a sound.

There are always sounds, but not always peace.

and peace is everything in a world where there is none.

So, I sit alone and steal this moment for myself,

while you lay and dream of better years,

better days,

or better moments to come.

I wait patiently inviting the sun to peek its curious eyes over that mountain

so when you wake, I can greet you with a peaceful start to your day.

Your smile is worth the deprivation I endured.

“How comfortable are you with crazy ’cause I got my feet up smoking a cigar baby and I just failed my ninth Rorschach test?”

Part 1: Out of Network

Dr. Sadhill’s Office

Joy, Joy, Joy,

can’t play in the sandpit nicely anymore,

what a shame—

Sending your little pigs to do something

You could never do anyway—

Write well.

You thought you were a wolf,

yet that little den you called a mansion

blew down before the mortar could dry

exposing the weak and spineless swine you really are.

With no mask to hide behind,

no fake fur to pretend,

now look at you,

spreading the flu,

infecting the searchers of souls,

the broken and malleable,

and the easy-to-confuse,

but that’s what you do, isn’t it?

Taking advantage like a disease,

you’re Haram,

and you’re no different from any other hog,

rolling around in your shit,

sending it flying through the air

while you throw your meaningless fit.

Keep thrashing about while no one cares,

cause you’ll soon be forgotten anyways.

It’s not our fault you quit.

Before you strain yourself in your old age,

trying to build enough breath to take down my piggery

sit back and relax,

because it’s I who will be doing the blowing,

and trust me I can fucking blow!

If you want to see me in full destruction mode,

remember this,

I’ll take myself out too just to win.

I’ll sacrifice the king just to kill the queen,

and I’ll wear every pawn in my path as body armor.

I am the definition of a Phoenix,

and I have done it thrice before,

bringing the force of Tsar with me,

I have no more fucks to give!

…but before I do

I recommend asking another Doctor for a second opinion.

Part 2: Always Get a Second Opinion-

Dr. Jennison’s Office

The clinic door’s part

a referral in hand.

“Let me see what you have,”

the receptionist demands.

She looks up at you

eyes twisted and confused.

“Are you ok?”

“Off your meds again today?”

“Is another one of you coming out to play?”

“You seem befuddled.”

“Let’s see if the doctor is in

so, he can check your head

before it’s too late.”—

’Before it’s a straitjacket and pills

for the rest of your days.”

“Please take a seat

he’ll be with you right away.”

The intercom sounds

over speakers echoing down

darkened frigid hallways—

"Calling Dr. Jennison, Dr. Eriabas Jennison to 73.”

He steps into the room marked with a number

reminiscent of that special day in Garwin.

He checks your chart

and struggles to find any beating in your heart.

The prognosis isn’t good.

“Ma’am you’re Bi-O-degrading

and shortlisting the Polar opposite of Alive,

so, I am forced to prescribe,

permanent rest in a bed

dirt-lined and divine,

but it’ll be you who decides when it’s time.”

“A couple of questions,

before you get this filled.”

Would the great Adam or Mary endorse

this blood being spilled?

Are Steve and Lizzy

squirming in their graves

watching their precious daughter misbehave—

Nearly seventy-two

and just now acting out her terrible twos?

July ninth is coming so soon.

“How does it feel

to be overwhelmed with the blues

celebrating underinflated geriatric balloons?

At your age,

I’d expect the cake to give you heartburn.

So, eat up you miserable buffoon.

Tapping his pen upon his lips

The Doctor’s thoughts were deep and thick.

He never likes to let it slip, so, he just asked,

“How do you say Ima knock out your tooth?”

“I know I’m not a dentist,

but does subtracting a Zero from the world make it Toth,

and is that how cavities are removed?”

Unless of course it grows too deep—

Going that far requires RCT,

The root canal is pulled out and killed.

After all the nerve must die,

but again, I’m no dentist.

It’s just the pill I prescribe.

Part 3: The Padded Pigsty for the Uninsured.

…You’ve been here all along.

Turned away

with no insurance to pay

You’re dropped off

at the Looney Bin

Where a stolen name is an unoriginal sin

and you’re smiling happily,

but you live that reality of two faces split.

Isn’t that an Apple file manager

or a TV Show that never amounted to shit?

It’s funny how managing anything

is not quite your strength,

like your businesses,

your sanity,

perhaps your meds were thrown down the sink.

That’s how you ended up here

strapped to a bed next to me,

or am I in your head?

Perhaps it’s insanity.

See, not all wine becomes finer with age—

Some turn rancid and decrepit,

and some have always been tasteless and bitter.

The kind of shit people sip up

only because of the label that was slapped on it,

but deep down everyone knows it’s trailer park piss.

I know trailer park shit when I see it

because I am it.

See, the differences between you and me are,

I’m comfortable living in this ghetto,

surviving among the grunge,

and I prefer being spread-eagle front porch nude,

I don’t care who sees my wang

’cause there Ain’t much to see.

So, let’s make it dirty.

I am a pig in shit too baby,

and I’ll be rolling just like you—

Hell, I’m next to you,

and if we’re gonna be roommates in this padded barn

at least make the conversations interesting.

You’ll settle in fine,

I know crazy is confusing, but give it time.

I know ordering your personality off the dollar menu isn’t sublime,

but how ’bout an upgrade this time?

Want a new face on the side

to match that personality change for an extra buck?

Hey, while you're ordering grab me something.

I’ll take a number 2

and I’ll smear it all over Iowa.

and I’ll take a side of whatever pig you send my way.