private garbage in public places

bastard (know what you love) is cake, baby, is dope . a big promise. la stupid, la comely. o voice of a thousand lobbies.

stomach ache. driver seat. can't look away, those eyes, an answer will come. a drive thru order. headlights highlight shopping cart.

swimming pools. avoid. miles. punch the air like a man. acting weird wear boots. find chairs. every time walking here is hard. knees bad. incline.

when counting squares touch too plants. fencelines. insects. fingers cut on saw blade. a sun dial. after work bench, backyard beneath a tree of beans. you so know this. i tell you.

three proton hour. am no stunt man. effects to muscles. few. a wind tunnel stance. lean, love. listen. cats and dogs. traffic games. see a form. trees are calling. look there that form in many window.




this is a suicide

the silence just after is deafening. life gets bigger and full of balloons. a decent thought crossing from elevator to hallway. but empty space sucks air and pockets swing at capacity. forged bits clank. my weapons are pennies. accuracy: not so good. i suspect a penetration. i am sneaky and not so sneaky. that denver feeling. 7th floor vodka poppers. when the legs won't work better crawl. all that matters is getting out with a blanket. a swiss army knife. a fistful of hair. call a taxi to take us to the hills. from there it is anyone's guess.







Scott Pierce lives in Austin, Texas and edits the publications of Effing Press with his cat Floyd. His TV POEMs were published as an e-book by BlazeVox in 2004 and a chapbook is forthcoming from Skanky Possum Press in 2005.


NEXT

PUT OUT LIGHTS