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WIVES EYES (excerpts from issue number one)

Born Again in ‘68
Aim to kill me
W some Providence
Throw rocks on top of threats
I don’t threaten much
Or throw anything back.
Just ask the girl who keeps
Losing her heart over the fence
& into my backyard.
She writes her name on it
in a circle & breaks it with
an arrow
& famous dates from history.
I have a collection of simply
Events from 1968.
Before her or I were born, so I don’t truthfully know the relevance…
I heard her on the phone
Referring to my yard as lover’s lane.
I call it
An exotic graveyard
Where all my trashed friends
Go to piss
when the lines backed up inside.
She’s just forgetful words all covered up
Too shy to actually ever fall in love
Too smart to let herself get emotionally dragged through the heart’s dusted & deserted attic of dead drugs.
Keep writing the words
& circling the dates, girl
Love might come for you before it leaves us, again.
You know how to make us shiver.
The difference between
Making love in a gifted room from the hotel manager
& getting caught counting cards
Is aged w the same providence
you felt slip between yr fingers.
There's not a lot to learn
Hell holds no grudges, just more land made off mistakes
& most of them will be repeated.
My only advice to the romantic
who will listen to me all night, though never read my lips
Just aim to kill.
Hopefully you attack like a wild beast
& rip your next lover’s heart
Out of their chest
In one fatal crash of the hand
In through their ribs like a brick through a window.
Mine’s all full of soot & poison berries
& will probably burn through yr skin,
So leave my love
like you leave me,
& the names,
on the hearts,
of the years,
On the other side of the fence.
Rorschach Tests Spread Across yr Bed
All those birds
That flew out of that dead man’s mouth
Now nest in mine.

Talk as Fast as the Patrol Car
As I lean into the porcelain black & white counter
Hips first - I can feel every vibration in this apartment
I look around for cool evidence
To take my side & ride out of here somewhat stable
But there’s nothing
Just garbage bags full of clothes & soft things
That have given way to the time’s hand
Pushing it into gravity’s concave of tumble
Then the digital alert system chimes three times.
Jesus Ortega.
Mary the Tranny.
Or the Holy Ghost of Haloed Smoke.
Somebody came in through the back door
I didn’t lock behind me
& as I pivot & relocate my weight still against the countertop - tailbone first - I un-pocket my hands
Make the sign of the cross, kiss my fingers
& hope to an almost forgotten god
It’s you attached to the approaching footsteps.
A broom in one hand
Magic in the other,
But in the back of my heart
I knew my get out of jail  
& sleep in the bus terminal free card
has seen the red behind the blue eyes
of sensational street prayer & guidance
A few too many times.
& just as the footsteps ready to round the corner
I remember
I’ve never made out lucky once,
My whole life.

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