isolation makes me jump
into the shredding propeller of her tongue
it was Hi 8 and stereo record player
and a sense we belonged,
wiping nose on my hand
then on those jeans strained and faded,
we could make it work maybe,
her nightgown had buttons
linear nipples of distraction,
i would run
if it where not the seventeenth floor
and no closer to heaven,
her voice slowed quicker
than the snow outside,
are we done
gun still pressed in my back waistband
you look done
i felt battered beyond the cut over eye
and bloodied nose,
the projects would have heroes
i was not one of them,
failing to hold up the store
girl cashier
younger
faded blonde dye and dark roots,
i spoke and connected,
pulled a flower from the bunches
sold cheaply at the desk
and gave it to her,
a startling explosion
as manager hit me with a piece of wood,
i ran
never said goodbye
but i know who
i wanted now
Tag Archives: gun
ballad of a stripper and a bookkeeper
he shot a hobo
alas a hobo
my lover shot a hobo
it was love , so love
i was the most insane stripper
lost on a winters eve
he was a bookkeeper with a gun
we wanted to run together
passion and breast in flames
he tried so much to please
with bunched up bloody nose
another fight over me
he started to kill
for pleasure that winters eve
police would call
and i would deny
through a packards windshield
his face a policeman saw
once run down
no going back
mexico and jazz
we where on the run
but my passion waned
with his bloodstained hands
and made a call
to a deputy
our villa surrounded
he felt betrayed
as to the chair
he fried
my lover alas my lover
who shot a hobo
and broke my heart
dVersePoets
descent and decay
iron blanket drawn
over graveyards shoulder,
time grizzles in the wind,
on haunches leaving flowers
new ones that repair the vase
to a certain brightness,
tattooed hand
pores darkened by labor
fingers stained by cigarette,
a tear would not fall
enough had shown at the time,
those fingers took a kiss
pressed it to headstone
no inhibition
despite the rumors that had become
a fiction contorted on nights breath,
driven within hours
in a landscape changing
mesh of community falling
into disrepair,
his longing had seen violence
memory carried weapons
and he could only think of
retribution,
slate wiped of all marks
that defined a normal history,
he still had a key
that room there own,
now cleansed and let to someone
else,
he visited sometimes
walking amongst others possessions
picturing his own
and her blood
scarring the walls
Exit And Answer
Terry S Amstutz
dead flaked walls,
i breathed there
my fear saw the grey plaster
with gun at my side,
ears distilled sounds
a gunshot,
sirens and screaming,
my unmended nature
by sociological discourse,
returned fire,
i hit someone,
who.. i did not know,
body temperature raised
clammy trickle down my back,
this was my trap
one exit only,
sometimes i wish i listened
but chose not to,
shouts down the hallway
torches and light,
light attached to guns,
robbery no excuse
to evade poverty,
now i was fallen
and unreachable,
lifting gun hand
i knew what to do
@dVersePoets with Terry S Amstutz
Better Bad Days
vinyl stuck to skin
shirt off made rough bandage
fuck man slow it down,
Chevy been on 85
what seemed a long time
worn suspension crashed and thudded,
cause of wound a .38
shit i said the guard was armed
black seats sticky
blood pooled into cracks,
just park up man
i won’t implicate you
mom will understand
it always will be me
fuck this hurts
what can i do
just stop the car
engine idled exhaust plumed
dust from tires
i will be ok go
sun filled windshield
a light to go to
it hurts Mikey
should i stay
go i won’t face a long stretch
i love you man
drivers door mirror
reflected
a face dying
as he began to run
velvetmedia 