My Devils...my Angel

Where are you now?

I am somewhere outside Oklahoma. You will not find me.

I know many a local operator. I can find your call…

I am sure you do. But When you do I will be farther gone.

How far?

I might be right under your nose, but you won’t know it.

I suspect you are in Arkansas. Somewhere near the border and figure you are just out of reach. Just look over your shoulder. That man at the bar…the one filling his gas tank…the guy having ham and eggs? They all work for me. Against you. Cause you don’t know, and you will never know.

Beats looking at you each and every day. I’ll take my chances with occasional strangers, against that guarantee.

                 "WHORECUNTBITCH….!!!!!

    

                                 ….ASSHOLE !!!!!

                                       ....LITTLEPRICKMOTHERFUCKER!!!

(so....)

You doin okay out there?

Fuck you. You crazy psychotic!

I think you might be overstating your case, here…

My case is with me, and I am gone.

Yes. But I still have room for two.

Then fill it with my absence.

You draw a very fine line.

Meaning?

You make it difficult to love you.

Hate? A fine line between love and hate?

I did not state that.

Arkansas. You’re right. I am in Arkansas. What are you going to do about that? Do you hate me yet?

I do.

See how easy that was? See why I won’t be back?

I do. Won’t stop me, but I do.

on east side - unwinds

Thoughts come to me over time, about that day. It started in Paris but we landed in berlin. I met her at a cafe, sparse, but the coffee was good and strong and we sat outside despite the chill. We were lilt with attraction and compassion, both with our guards down we chatted. That was not me. That was drawn from me. That was her skill.

I remember a bit about a bumpy flight. That too was very cold. It was dark. I heard men talking in the cockpit but was not sure they were aware of me. I was in the back hatch, in the darkness

Early November. I believe. Cold and damp.

Sparks

Every Spark Dies

Not in it’s own time

But in time

Time enough

to fuel another fire

itself to roar

and spore more

Or dance on air

For a fraction

Of a blink

Before cooling

Fuel used

Up it floats

Amidst motes

Of dusty ashes

Until 

it's exquisite,
extinguishing
final
FLASH

Shipley's Slippery Shiv

It does no one any good to mourn the loss of Shipley.

He was a man shrouded in angst, hounded by dread, defenseless against the demons that danced in his head.

His bad day was always your worst moment but thankfully you could walk away and leave it at that.

He lived with the malaise. A malaise of his own making, marking the pain on calendar pages and paper scraps with notes to strangers.

He hid most often from sight as he hid the demon that cowered inside him; disagreeable and demanding little urchin that spent it’s nights eating at his gut. The days too bright.

I mean Shipley was the kind of dude that wore shades at night. His eyes said too much otherwise. In fact when Shipley did not wear his specs he looked strangely naked and vulnerable, but still angry as heck. Pissed off, like he had to get up early after a night of bingeing.

He carried a knife in a sheath on his belt. Didn’t try to hide, or show it. Just wore it. Never drew it, but you knew it was there.

Some say Shipley had a bad set of cards when it came to women, but more say it was them that were jinxed by his black heart…the Ace of Spades. It’s hard to read a man that hides behind shades.

So Shipley went in the night, the urchin wins, eaten up inside, his heart finally gives. He died. And it does no one any good to mourn the filthy dreg, nor is it right to spit on him instead.

Fleshy

ERGO

Be wary of confident flow

Like a freight train gaining speed

Too full of itself

And monstrous momentum

It’s shear glide

The whole ride

In powerful stride

Derailed

by a nail

On the rail

Yet a risk

that must be taken

In quest of confidence flow

The express usually

Builds Speed

before the crash

but if it don’t

it won’t go

express

Lost at Seeing

Although

it might shake

your world

Your orgasm

doesn’t affect

the universe

One iota

The tremor

Not soon

Remembered

beyond

dismembering

the scale

of your

grand quiver

decidedly

deficient

of Richter

He slips

And falls

Out of your

Life

But was he swimming

or washed away?

Needn’t matter.

The tide comes

And goes

It is your universe

again