Moons

|||Waxing||
I care not about acceptance
She'll keep bowin' her neck
These ghosts are testing their limits
Of my already hoarse voice
They're gonna find me out by the dumpster
With orange caps at my feet like a bunch of confetti
And broken doors with death scrawl pleas
Submerged in the silence of twenty-two stifled screams
With the virus in my blood, I wane.

(This is about one of my friends' neighbors. He was an intravenous crystal meth addict who was dying of AIDS. One day, after defaulting on his rent payments to the point of warranting a dereliction notice from the City of Eugene, he left his apartment in the middle of the night to avoid being served with a subpoena. Before he left, he wrote some insane shit all over the walls: threats, pleas for help, other errata. I think it might have been written in blood. A lost soul if ever one existed.)

[[[[Waning]]]
Brackets, bracelets
My legs are braced
There'll be not another word
I left myself death alone on the tarmac
In Minneapolis
The skyline burns into orange and sinks
Behind the trees
We melt into the scorched earth
We wax.

(Sick on the runway in Minnesota.)

(6/17/10 - xx:xx??)