at times you feel like you can tell bad guys

things you can't tell a pretty woman

cuz if he decides to kill you it will be nicer,

a confession, the release of burdens

then two shots, just business

the piano is full of tinsel,

i talk to the bad guys to

dream a lost party making

circles in forests so deep that

the animals there have no eyes,

i talk to the bad guys in me,

they bite cigars and they break

like the trunk of a falling tree,

the birdies nests tumble and the chicks,

blind slimy infertile, mew in the grass

ruptures of the earth, mulch and grubs

i have friends in places down low who

bite off the cigar butt and bellow smoke

like dreams made of black iron and say

"lay it on me man whats got you down?"

the bad guys, who would look preposterous

wearing sunglasses at night, if you didnt know

how many people they had killed, bad guys like that

understand shit, like fumbling trays, spilling

drinks on dignitaries wearing white clothes,

like trying to put hearts on the two sides of a scale,

like the uncertainty between downtown and wilderness

walking around with the nails buried deep,

must he bear the cross, while the whole world goes free?

no there is a cross for everyone, theres a cross for me

what have i done and what can i do when i try to stop

the bleeding the gore just leaks out of another hole like

the whole world is the valentines dance of middle schoolers

where i arrived and perpetuated,

wasted, covered in nails and splinters of wood

i keep asking where i am,

getting no answer

rare bars where smoking is allowed indoors,

wash of faces that might as well be smoke

places deep in the woods where hell breaks loose,

where tiny eggs get smashed and the bird leaks out