just can't count on sheep

he sticks his tongue
under the empty lid
-just one more,
one more sip, 1.5 more
milligrams
will cure the shaking hands;
one more line to wrap around his mind
would surely easehe sticks his tongue
under the empty lid
-just one more,
one more sip, 1.5 more
milligrams
will cure the shaking hands;
one more line to wrap around his mind
would surely ease
this worried man to sleep
-or so he thinks
… or doesn’t
breathe-
as the lines become a tether
for promise and that scrawny neck
connected to the bottles empt head
to dance around in circles
together,
as the squares recline
on the backside of his eyes

[9:56pm]

-it’s far past their bed times,
but just close enough for those
with open minds
and broken eyes
to lend a scapegoat
dressed in sheep’s wool.

he counted six sheep,
and nine wolves
that had resigned from trickery-
rather love than eat;

the mattress creeks
keep me awake
as the water spills from god-damned
acts,
all caught on film-
and replayed and replayed and replayed
as the membrane rips
and the sheep’s lips peel
below the wolf’s huffing and puffing-
she squeals, and he feels
it coming-
the full collapse,
the last piece of straw ripped
from the batch
as her eye rolls
-without knowing whether to go back
into her head,
or to look down at the ground
until his back stiffens
and his abdomen has lifted from the shattered flower
that he has pissed in.

she wattled back into
the picture
after the frame had split her
in two;

[10:23pm]

I was waiting at the doorstep
on my forehead-
foot tapping with my hand set
on my endless face,
as it ticked
with ring finger
pointing at the time
she read in my eyes from miles away
-but tried to ignore by looking at the floor,
but couldn’t
because it reminded her
of the time before
the wolf sold her innocents
for cents of worth
she couldn’t afford.

I didn’t say a word to her-
only let her in the door;
I knew the stench as soon as it spilled
across the kitchen floor;
I knew she walked the walk
with crooked steps
and talked the talk
without a single breath;
I knew her womb quivered in the words
I hadn’t even said-
all by the way she held her tongue
above the top button
of her open dress.

[11:41pm]

we made love
after she had finished throwing up-
just to test the water
bed she had shed after last nights
sword prevailed over her shoulder blades,
and erased what we’d become;

I wore two o’clock
like the prostitute’s true thoughts,
as she closes her eyes
and opens them at the end of the ride;
the clocks rim for a wedding band-
that hadn’t thought to tick
after what she did to me

-just can’t count on sheep,
because you never know who
they’re sleeping with;

[12:58am]

and she just laid in bed,
filled the empty space beside my head,
next to the only tally mark
we had left-
the one of two hundred we were pardoned with

-on our best days, maybe 1.5
while
she’s closing her legs to cover
the wool-less stretch along her inner thighs
-trying to smile,
as she limps on through
the white picket fence
into the sleepy mine(d).

[2:00am]

this worried man to sleep
-or so he thinks
… or doesn’t
breathe-
as the lines become a tether
for promise and that scrawny neck
connected to the bottles empt head
to dance around in circles
together,
as the squares recline
on the backside of his eyes

[9:56pm]

-it’s far past their bed times,
but just close enough for those
with open minds
and broken eyes
to lend a scapegoat
dressed in sheep’s wool.

he counted six sheep,
and nine wolves
that had resigned from trickery-
rather love than eat;

the mattress creeks
keep me awake
as the water spills from god-damned
acts,
all caught on film-
and replayed and replayed and replayed
as the membrane rips
and the sheep’s lips peel
below the wolf’s huffing and puffing-
she squeals, and he feels
it coming-
the full collapse,
the last piece of straw ripped
from the batch
as her eye rolls
-without knowing whether to go back
into her head,
or to look down at the ground
until his back stiffens
and his abdomen has lifted from the shattered flower
that he has pissed in.

she wattled back into
the picture
after the frame had split her
in two;

[10:23pm]

I was waiting at the doorstep
on my forehead-
foot tapping with my hand set
on my endless face,
as it ticked
with ring finger
pointing at the time
she read in my eyes from miles away
-but tried to ignore by looking at the floor,
but couldn’t
because it reminded her
of the time before
the wolf sold her innocents
for cents of worth
she couldn’t afford.

I didn’t say a word to her-
only let her in the door;
I knew the stench as soon as it spilled
across the kitchen floor;
I knew she walked the walk
with crooked steps
and talked the talk
without a single breath;
I knew her womb quivered in the words
I hadn’t even said-
all by the way she held her tongue
above the top button
of her open dress.

[11:41pm]

we made love
after she had finished throwing up-
just to test the water
bed she had shed after last nights
sword prevailed over her shoulder blades,
and erased what we’d become;

I wore two o’clock
like the prostitute’s true thoughts,
as she closes her eyes
and opens them at the end of the ride;
the clocks rim for a wedding band-
that hadn’t thought to tick
after what she did to me

-just can’t count on sheep,
because you never know who
they’re sleeping with;

[12:58am]

and she just laid in bed,
filled the empty space beside my head,
next to the only tally mark
we had left-
the one of two hundred we were pardoned with

-on our best days, maybe 1.5
while
she’s closing her legs to cover
the wool-less stretch along her inner thighs
-trying to smile,
as she limps on through
the white picket fence
into the sleepy mine(d).

[2:00am]