my mom,
she brought me a rosary
back from Los Angeles
a couple of day ago-
even though she knows
I stopped believing.
There is no reason for it.
The Cross,
it lost itself in the oceanic barbs
of my chest-
while a red headed girl,
an elementary school teacher,
was noisy, drunk and blowing me.
She called me beautiful many times.
Said that my eye lashes
were gorgeous. This person
complimented me
as if I were a woman,
or cared. She didn't know
how perfect my hate had become.
She was unaware of the coyote
that drinks tequila
and eats pussy and howls
empty promises.
She would have let me cum in her
if she knew
I had a girlfriend overseas,
whom I love
and miss so very much.
My girlfriend's name is Diana,
she's very pretty-
prettier than all of the women
who I've fucked.
She's august, and her idea of love
is centuries old. Diana says we are meant
for each other and recites my poetry
from the heart.
She calls me every day before work,
to say good morning,
and that she hopes I have the best day.
The read headed girl is cocaine pale-
and heavy. She's skinny but so fucking
heavy on my chest.
My pants constricted my ankles
and I stuffed myself with rotten fruit.
Seeds of guilt taking root on my chin,
and this insignificant woman
spilled my name into the darkness of 3:14 a.m.
I don't even remember
telling her
what it is.
I'm not faithful,
but I wear this rosary
in hopes that it will change me.
We...
we will always be men.
We will always be coyotes-
scavanging the dessert sands
for a cheap drink and some pussy.
However,
there is a stronghold
somewhere in the ink of my spine,
where I seek betterment.
I hope to wear resolve like
a black eye. I want the world to see
that I've fought for the Hundred-Year love.
For the one who bothers to call-
who's ethereal and brave and who's hair
spins in daylight
like iron tornadoes.
This poetry is history now.
And I'm in my car, hollowing out my promises.
Carving truth from itself.
I watch the winter sun dragged
into the grey of today.
And I can only think.
Diana, sister to the Sun god,
I know you jump rope'd with flames-
but I can't ever let you know
that I'm so much less than I swore to be.
I'm burning to ask for forgiveness.
She'll be calling me soon
and I'll be waiting
in the frost bitten sun.