#1
upon awakening
from a drunken stupor
he found her in his bed
transformed, a monstrous insect

he stifled a shriek
no longer content to linger
laying there, lying to her
he grabbed his steel-toed work boots
and decisively stamped out the vermin

but he shook his head
came to, and fro, and to again
and only saw mudstains
in a permanent crease
on her side of the bed

--

he stares at his reflection
in the creek beside his shack
black bags beneath his eyes
the only memory of a week
of sleepless nights

ha ha ha he scoffs and coughs
born a preacher's son
but whiskey's more than
diluted the holy water
and he ain't singing
in no choir

he remembers
a woman in his bed
but he don't know her name
and his momma glaring at her
from her picture frame
knowing she'd be back tomorrow
but she wouldn't look the same

until one day momma smiled
from then on
she always looked the same
he takes another shot
and hopes that it will fade

--

he pops a mulberry in his mouth
and it just don't taste as good
as he remembers

he glances through his backyard
storm-ravaged
and hopes it turns back south
again and again and again
runs to his Camaro
and fires on the engine

he whispers into his handset
i ain't ever coming back momma
i ain't ever coming back

she tells him
that time doesn't fly
don't morph don't move
it just stays right where it was
and you can try to outrace it
but it'll catch you in the end
or you can cling ever so tightly
to the hands
but eventually they'll throw you
headfirst from the face
and you'll be sinking endlessly
through a timeless space

he mumbles a reply
throws the phone into the creek
and peels out of the driveway

--

he feels more alive
postmortem
than he had before her
and possibly during
though he can't remember

plays basketball at the park
spends quarters at the arcade
knocks over racks at walmart
publix and that gentleman's place
has his first glass of milk
in decades in a sippy cup
eats too many cookies
and doesn't clean up after himself

he spends the night under a bridge
with his eyes half-closed
both hands clenched
wickedly wrecked swinging wildly
at the fog

--

but in the twilight
he watches a group of three boys
hesistate by their front gate
staring down a football
on the other side of the street
one that looks like him
takes a deep breath and runs across
giggling

a car swerving
driver drunk much too early
comes flying down the road
and in a ****ing fit of glory
he punches the throttle
and drives into the middle
of the street

finally smiling
as the soft metal clamps
around his body it's
so warm
so dark

i was drunk when i jotted this down, and sober when i transcribed it. figured since i was here, might as well post something.
#2
Long yet sweet. I think this is one of my new favorite bits on the S+L forum!

It's kinda got a story to tell, and you do a very VERY good job at doing so. The last stanza sends a chill up my spine too

Nice job, man. Keep it up!