an old model
the compressor sings
and wheezes
the orchestra of nite
I open its turquoise bay
some wilted veggies
and the remains of
the day
lonely man dinners
on a leftovers tray

happiness is being alive
and chosing ones poison

Inside gleams the robust
bottle its top black like a
buttons shine
swallow with expectation
and shaking hand from
Formica top take a plastic
thermos mug and pour
five shots

like five rounds to dull the
pain...the internet fires
of scathing games
they want what they cannot
have nor I too give and rake
me like gunfire on a rebel
hill
their silver hitting home
and im unable
to stave
what they throw

my friend the televisions
turned too
desperae scenes of mans
zoo
madness waiting beyond
my door...at night I sleep
alone on the floor
till the ghosts come kicking
me awake
your youthful angry face
or worse
the sweet voice
and heartfelt shy
like a dagger
from the sky

whatever makes U happy

I raise my toaste
and turn up the channels
of madness
watching streetcars go
by
its a full moon and someone
always plays with the intercom
buttons
like spirits trapped on the other
side speaking in tongues

roofline like a glacier
and jets taking off
the fire of my afterburner
crawls into the boiler
of the middle
and the doors to
the madhouse
buzz open
and the residents
stir and descend
the staircase

......