Five Bullets

Venturi Ave.


five bullets



give back:

four up in airs—

nobody asks,

nobody cares—

with god up-counting prayers,

four bullets up in airs,

as a high-schooler,


she moans

from a mouth—


from a vein,

a very ambitious vein


all aflame—

so much

the length it took

to stage,

day in and day out,

night after night,

stage by bombed-out stage,


graze salty lips—

irony is

somewhere in shacks off shore,

lungs the chest with gore

given to everyone,

choking on pretense: I love our gore


arced back

and courts

of ears,

torn the


left on floors



searching, wavering lights—

toward things,

wandering ones,

search the very same,

taken, oh, too long


rarely known,

someone else’s grip

to held knees, struck fast,

asphalt burns skin and bone

so torn


pray a god

or whatever—

hope, she’s listening,



she’s not

caved into it

of a mind, of me:

a mosque of self-interest


a novena of lost-darling

and broken-hearted dead ends,

dog-eared love letters

I’ve written

and the ones, I write

only god I’ve known


wandering of heart

to a heart,


every heart

worth salt



poisoned water


obscure, stagnant tears

on tepid soulless shorelines,

nothing but roots,

knotted and red

to remember the sad

trapped, dirty whorls

of the land,

given-on to left,

a heart,

as bled.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s