“Black Blood Stains”

Oblong shapes that tear the flesh from bone

projected from the mind they split the stone.

Leave none alive they’ll dig and they’ll bite,

within you they breed and chaos they’ll incite.

Fingers held tight they hold you in chains,

their marks seen clear in the black blood stains.

Cleansed from your spirit the wash takes years,

the victory you seek is that of few cheers.

What you seek you will find in inner peace,

the prisoner within who demands the release.




“91 or 2”

Light up the tip and watch it burn anew,

tobacco smoke so pure and white hot blue.

Flavors so dense the mouth can chew,

relief from the pain and stain of life we knew.

To sit and ponder every breath seems taboo.

But what else is there to contemplate or do?

So it makes no sense to read your silly review,

this glorious stoge in my hand you give a 91 or 2.



“Jesus is Going to Hell”

So the little bastard who knocked my teeth in

decides to sit down and snack on the blessings

of my generous purse with shiny fork and spoon.

Thou shalt not steal but this devious soul has done

the bidding of his masters and brought shame to

the house of heaven from which he calls home.

Nothing I can do but sit and watch from afar as

he cuts his New York Strip from the bone and

forks a large piece between braced teeth and tongue.

He smiles with a mouth of metal and all I can think

is the redeeming thought that Jesus is going to hell.