Counting Cars (with Spoken Word)

The child counts cars with hash marks
Make and manufacturer recognized
From advertisements, pages ripped
From sports magazines of his father.

The Ford Mustang was a first favorite
Before poor design choices threw out
Strength in exchange for Four Eyes.
Two gens later the muscles are back.

Now cars and vanity and statements
All mash up together in a price tag
Out of reach of the man’s desire.
The price of gas, alone, too much.

A bike seems much more practical
To and from with saddle bags full
Fresh produce, cold dairy, sweets
The slight oxygen burn of legs.

The child counts cars again, always
Going along for the ride, never driving.
By now, hash marks have cut through
His paper marking up the leather seats.

Cannonball With Me

I need my girl,
Girl cannonball with me
Let’s see who can make a bigger splash
See who can crash harder
We are good at looking taller, we are grounded,
So tell them to talk about what this clown did.

I need my girl,
Girl come dance with me
We will spin and spin and spin
We will drink like Hank and Boleyn
I promise to keep your head, though, in mind
Really, to take it from you I am disinclined.

I need my girl,
Girl need me too, need me to
Love you more than 45 percent, expect interest
Compounding as we count our splashes and spins
Making life small enough to wrap my head around it:
The divine, the apology, the shit I lost.

I need my girl, I need my girl, I need…

Take this gun out of my hand, Davy.

Image: Rebecca Kinkead

A Mad World Poem: Queue the Music

A collaborative poem with my talented friend Christine of -Gecko

fills my ears like
gin in my glass
accolades for how well
I convey pain
others consume
I am their proxy
their stand-in
these words
I give
tiny pins
that prick
nerves like
tying up
this human condition
I am grateful
for the shot
at the main stage
the time you give
me to speak for
the lonely
the voiceless
the desperate
the crowd
praises my performance
my art
feeling too much
this fancy
red carpet
dress returns
to an empty
dressing room
to drink the gin

My Lonely Seasons Pass/A Mad World Poem

“Gecko, I do believe they are working on a series this time.”
“Yes, Mouse, I do believe you are right. Something about the emptiness of modern life.”
“Well, that’s certainly a departure!”
A collaboration between Christine of Brave and Reckless and Stephen Fuller of Pointed Home.

The days blend, one into the other,
Waking naked into the world, I stare
Into a meaningless blur trying for
Definition with a shave and makeup
Armor to protect from soulless work
Seeping inside these walls to steal
What remains of my fight. I sleep
Empty in bed, cold featureless sheets
Cover my flesh, only virgin pillows
Wrapped in white, offering contours.
Loneliness like a season failing passage.

My Lonely Seasons Pass/A Mad World Poem: Christine Ray & S. Francis

Word Magnet a Puzzle

Who is she this blue goddess?

Put an ugly chocolate diamond on her purple finger

Incubate the rain dream heaving behind her breast garden

Whisper in delirious lust next to those bare feet

And live part of life white fluff in pink pants

Crush the sweet lather

Leave the peach

Recall the driving vision of death

Light in flood of friends

Wax the lazy beat

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