When the Wolves Came...

and it was a dark and hallowed
and bloody widows walk
from the river
to the car
it was the most
vicious moon
i had ever seen

no one came
to my rescue
not Jesus
not my mother
not even you

now, tomorrow
before the sun rises
i will put you
deep in the ground
and without even thinking twice
i will put a gun in my mouth

it will be the best day of my life

Uncreative Conversations

it was like a forest fire
with the manila envelope
and the fear in her eyes
and cold, glazed over look
in yours

a 22 year battle
to keep it together
is now over
she conceded defeat

all the while
the forest was burning
you were burning
the love letters

all the interesting stories
that were true
or, they weren't
or, they were
we never knew

but she stayed by you
even when the fists were thrown
and your oldest sun hid
in fear, and hatred

to be honest
it's tiring
writing about this thing
that you claim
is made up history

but it's real
i have the bruises
the real life scars
on my back, face
and heart

but now i'm just tired
and i don't want to
talk about this shit,
or you
anymore

(Un)Conditional

don't talk about it
don't even utter the word
you have your conditions
just like everyone else

it's green
and it's where
your tangible "joy"
comes from

don't talk about
the meaninglessness
of our capitalist
past

don't utter the
nouns and verbs
that elude to
your "Un" conditions
and how you love
the kids
unconditionally

you never will
and neither will i

but let's,
instead,
say the real words

we have conditions
we don't want our
shit messed with
and when it is
we declare war
and we kill
with words
and misdeeds
and by lighting on fire
all of the bridges
we have built on the
faulty engineering
of words

there is no such thing
as a passivist
but only moments in time
when the gun stays
in the holster

because
when it comes down to it
it's either "kill"
or "be killed"
even if only
with words
and smiles
and handshakes
and "nice"
and balanced,
logical,
well-adjusted
analyses
of people
we don't even
know

i'm not saying
you're a liar
i'm just merely asking
that we admit that
the guns are there
and that we are always
ready and willing
to use them

Castration is the New Black

take a side
any side
so we know
who you are
and where you stand
and how you stand
and what you fight for
and how we can
fight you

are you a drunk?
well, if so,
do you like fine liquers?
are you a liberal?
If not, then
do you defend
a woman's
right to choose?
are you a feminist?
If not, can we agree
that gender roles
are meaningless?

Ah, now I get it
and, no I don't
believe in labels either
but I think you could use one
"pseudo-hipster-liberal-christian-fundamentalist"
how does that fit?
it works for me

well, that's an interesting thought
usually I like to disagree
but masculinity is so
60 years ago
castration is the new black
man, get with it

because it's the masculine man
that ruined our world
and not the sin that
entered the world with Adam
yeah, I'm a christian
but, also a "post-christian."

Grace to feminists
Grace to liberals
Grace to neo-anarchists

but,
justice to conservative think tanks
justice to evangelical pastors
justice to stay-at-home moms
justice to the dads who
work all day, and make their
feminist wives labor all day
at home

Grace for me
Justice for all my enemies

Forgiveness?

smile
it's half-full
i'll take an egg,
sunny-side up,
with extra pepper
oh, yeah
i'll take a side
of hash browns
go easy on the salt
will ya?

yeah,
it's true
it's just
me and the kids
these days
he, the father
did a lot of things,
and they were all wrong

he never paid for anything
he never gave anything
he took
and he took
until there was nothing left

we sat in a shitty apartment
with no power for a year
but i look on the bright side
i wake up with a smile
because a smile,
well that's all
i have
oh, and my two boys
who are the most
beautiful animals
i have ever seen.

when i wake in the morning
charlie says, "i love you, mommy."
i say, "i love you, too sugar."

the deadbeat
the dad
the donor
the taker
calls twice a year
to congratulate the boys
on getting older
he gives them
$20 every year
and we all cry
every time we get the call
and we get the money
because it's worthless
and meaningful
and evil

he tells me he's sorry
every six months or so
i tell him that i've forgiven him
but i never have
and i never will
he usually calls me from a bar
after i hang up the phone
i get on my knees
and pray that he drives
home drunk
drives into a tree
and that the impact
lunges his entire body
into the air
and that he's impaled
by a wandering
tree branch

and that nobody calls
to tell us what happened
but that we just stop getting
the calls
and we stop getting
the money
and that i never have to
lie and say, "i forgive you"
ever again

Our Friendless Days, and Desperate Nights

i didn't expect the misery
i thought it was my pragmatic
approach to living
but then the lies spewed
out of my mouth
now i'm stuck in this house
without a soul to talk to
or about
with you

old friends
long forgotten
tell me about
how when i write
it's an outcry
of my heart
to be loved

truthfully,
old and forgotten friend,
now turned foe,
most of the time i write,
yes because my heart is outpouring
this endless un-joy,
but also because
i never want to say it
the way i really need to
say it,
to your
beautiful face

and at the same time
that you're talking to me
like i'm the only one
with our friendless days,
and desperate nights
twirling in my brain,
you feel it too,
deep in your gut

you see,
i'm just in my bedroom
feeling the reality of
this unavoidable loneliness,
but you--
you are sitting in a bar
laughing with friends
knowing that once your
secret is out
they wont love you
like you think they do

it all ends
it all goes away

all the joy
all the smiles
all the drinks
in crowded bars
at one point or another
fade

it becomes sad
the jokes are stale
the drinks start to taste bad
and bars empty

we all
wake up one day
in an armchair
in the suburbs
or in some town
we never thought
we'd end up in

and
in a desperate
attempt to cling
to our old days
we tell jokes
we talk about the things we'd do
if only we had a few extra years
to live in that joyous time
that never existed in the first place

yes, you're right
i need therapy
and so do you
so fuck off

a note on the kitchen table

on the ride home
we talked
like we always did

this time we talked
about this big thing
about the chivalry
the opening of car doors
and of hanging my coat
and of calling me by
your "pet names."

don't get me wrong
i love you
but you forget
where we came from

the seedy hotels
the heroin
the fucking in backseats
the shacking up with random
girls
in the city

and you,
you
are just
a poor white boy
from the country
that i crushed on
and fucked
ferociously
and it slipped
past that
proverbial goaly

now i give up
my post modern dreams
to sit on the back porch
with you
and the little one

goddamn, this is hard
because i love you both
so dearly
fuck
i just can't do this
wife and mom bullshit
i can't make a fucking dinner
for you, and be attached
to this pitiful
suburban life

i've given up so much
just to be with you
i'm sorry
it's bad,
i know it
that i took
our only car
that you paid for
with your shitty job
but i couldn't
really afford the train
up north

just never tell
the little one about me
let him peacefully forget
you should do the same yourself
i will miss you, terribly
but please don't miss me

you'll never see me again
hopefully...

When I Got the Call

when i got the call
at 3:23 am
my heart sunk
it had sunk deep before,
like when she broke up with me
the first, second and third times
we got hitched after the third time

this time my heart sank
into the depth
of a place that no longer exists
it pummeled through my spine
and, for at least a moment,
i could feel the wetness
of my blood and guts
on the black and white
marble tile in our
new kitchen

we had a fight
a big one
with "F" bombs
and "I hate yous"
and some "I hate you toos"
and a few, "I hope you never come backs"

she ran out the front door
with a middle finger in the air
she said, "i'm gonna fuck everything"
and i said "go ahead, fuck yourself while you're at it"

she had been gone for three days
when i got the call
i chalked up to her
shacking up with an old boyfriend
instead, the stranger on the other line
said, that she had taken her own life
after a long night at a bar
she was middle-aged by now
and no one wanted her
so she went back to
her studio apartment
and plunged a knife
deep into her chest

no note
no threat
just a bloody knife
and my dead bride
on her bed
alone
and without me

i dropped the phone
and cried for
12 hours straight
i fell asleep
i woke up dehydrated
and angry

the next few months
were pretty inconsequential
i drove around the country in my car
until all of our savings had run out

i ended up in The Dalles, Oregon
next to a river
with no more gas
no more food
no more irish malt whisky
just a broken down car
nothing left
and a free flowing river

i didn't jump in
but i wanted to
instead,
i walked up the highway
to a chicken farm
asked the owner if he needed
some labor help
he said, "yeah
it pays shit."
i said,
"i'll take it."

i worked there for
the next 25 years
until finally
my liver couldn't
hold the whisky anymore
i knew it was coming

i paid a homeless man
$300 to throw my
sorry ass into
the Deschutes river

i wanted to die
and he needed the cash
it all worked out in the end