the binge on purge

all is forgiven
that makes its way to the fat mouth
of this mississippi monday

reaching down through the esophagus
to greet the giant's bloated river belly
by tuesday

come wednesday
we will bear 40 nights of ashes
sloughing our pregnant weight,
offering our flesh to the wind
waiting
a year for a week
to do it all again



wb

one requited day

this, it isn't yours to keep
just to hold, for now
to strain against its weight.

yes, things will crack and buckle
the facade will reveal its meat

tender and exposed to disease
the tissue will rot
the rot, debride


what surfaces, its yours to keep
with scars, and antibodies
and weightless sleep

yet, on down the line you'll see other's
who are cracking, hear their buckling
become labored breath

though their virus un-contagious
your scars will ache
their antibodies, breed

remember then, to tell
each gaunt and pallored face
that every fragile sinew broken
was replaced
and at twice the fee



wb

detritus

here we are
lying in the debris of kisses

and to think, we met
like wet dogs
howling at the rain
to let up

with thawed paws
we found handfuls of fingers
and dug
into licked wounds

and pulling
we found colors that had sunk
beneath the weight of grey-haired days

those fingers, drunk
with colors dripping
painted over the pale of the moon

breaking its frozen horizon
with a blushing-yellow yawn
and the stars bled out
and drowned
in the indigo iris
of the sun



wb