Three Poems

nitroglycerine

by hacksaw and hammer,
a crude heart keeps pounding out a rhythm

this four-ton slave is a living slave
whose deep long beat has broken free of time
a second-rate machine whose living murder
is a flexing muscle countdown
the punch clock pitbulls by the hour
got bass and baritone hung by the heels
no skull of a heart is a thumping rock

the wind blows through and whispers in the branches
(the code of silence was written for suckers)
nervous leaves rattle bones and chatter

the beat works with its own echo
it feeds on itself, consuming blood
bubble and froth, picking up the tempo
slamming doors shut:

let the heart attack


looking for users

People are turning up dead
they’re finding them on the pavement
in dark alleys and church parking lots
there’s a new god on the streets

a stronger one
that users aren’t used to
no one knows how to
work out the dosage

some say they’re confusing it with another god
but some of the dead knew what it was, all right
they were just expecting it to be cut
with candy or disney glycerin

this god is never cut
pure from the source it is the source itself
with this one
you’re tapping right into the sun
a thermonuclear spike to the neurons
that no body can absorb and stay whole

no need for dealers,
this god itself is self-pushing, self-rising
it calls for users with a small voice
pleading for mercy,
offering release,
demanding an audience,
looking for a temple
to explode in.


eyes pop open

eyes pop open, ovens pop open
this psychiatry sews up openings

in slips needle out comes horror
open drain; cake comes after

rub away that funny feeling
warm food served with plastic cutlery

sprinkle sugar on incisions
scissors dance with sheer abandon

snip or stab, it's with precision
oh your hands are cold like popsicles