you were

the deepest pothole downtown filled
con sangre you sign your name
shaky like the cobblestone roads
comino hued skies and skin
shed like a rattlesnake roundup
mararcas in west texas winds
whispered through broken bag pipe lungs
tarred and feathered and served up
like melatonin dreams my love

unhinged & rusted cellar doors
basted in butter in the sun
cooked through from the inside out
matched to a fate like a wick
a pro at pain burnt at both ends
a fish dying through its mouth
hooked like a finger down to squeeze
always ready to be
the bullet never the gun

A Monday Night Twenty Years Later

Anniversary blues for you / ever since you sat in the chair / your words no longer echo through
brittle boned houses / barely built after you took bat / taking from them / took again / broke skull
eight times / thirty-three long years ago / And I wonder / would I have ever known / your today—
This celebration / of broken state property / life taken by the state / as collateral for taking one of
their own / looking like many men I have known. The law / without doubt / is the kindest form of
death. And this must be true / because I am looking into what used to be your eyes / ink blots / and
I trust you more / because you are dead.