Pink Slip

He buys a round
of pink slips.
Worry not,
it won’t come
to you but
it will find
a throat
that will have
to chug it down.

First round’s on
he who hasn’t
a care in the world
knocking down
what’s real
to find what
he thinks is lost
in the past.

He’s a sad man
with a clown jig.

I cannot bear
I hold it.
I’m not pink
slipped through
the cracks.
Is it enough
for the sad man
to not know.

His is a slip
I don't envy.

Point of View

In slow seconds
of the day
I wander
to before.

But it does
no good
to look
back there.

I am third
person in
the fading

It’s best
to come back
to where I
is found.

The Worm

My finger snakes across the table
to demonstrate the path
that a dissecting tool would take
to split the skin of a worm.

Its smooth, taut shape
I will slice and pin back,
careful not to cut too deeply
severing its ribless body in half.

Lowly invertebrate:
fish bait - earth composter
the all’s clear after rains -
neither sexed – both sexed

opened for discovery,
guts revealing aortic arches:
five loops carrying blood
to its five beating hearts.

Five hearts, four more
than human, to torment
and devour the one
so easily insinuated into.

My finger remembers
the smooth, sinuous skin 
that covers his cheek.
How did he work his way  
in and not fertilize?

Smoke In My Eyes

Cornea burn.
Corps burning.
Heart burnt.

The visor
not down
lets sun blaze
that protect
blue eyes.

White  vision 
blind drive home.

my core smolders:
smoke   no   flame.