Doc Marek

Perusing the sidewalk,
my face fell
right off my head
& shattered into
a million pieces
on the concrete.

And although the sun
doesn’t shine anymore,
I wear a mask
with a permanent smile
because I’ve pretended
so long that
it all became
true.

Hot & bothered
prima donna,
riddled with disease.

Can’t live with her,
can’t live without her,
calluses on her knees.

The sun doesn’t shine
on hearts locked
in chests
or behind bars.

I finger the intercostal
spaces & wait for
clocks to melt off
wrists & walls &
memories.

There’s too many windows,
& too many dead birds.
I throw salt
over my shoulder &
thank God for
superstition.

I watched three
blackbirds
dive bombing a hawk
high above the trees.

It must be
spring.

Something caught my eye
as I was reading;
a spider
on the floor,
running to hide
under the refrigerator
as if he knew I was going to
stand up and smash him.

Sometimes the truth hurts,
my friend, and
sometimes you don’t feel
it at all.

Contagious as clapping
hands,
my sick mind revolves;
a hotel door.

I’m feeling good like
sex on drugs but
it’s time to right
all of the wrongs
that are left.

I need
another hole
in my head.

Hell sells dead brain cells,
(buy one get one free)
don’t tell her
I’m just lonely.

Moods changing like a
full moon, skin exposed
& scorched & moist
with sweat from the
humidity,
legs and bodies are
showcased now, making
the season slightly less
miserable,
lotions fill my nostrils
with sand & sun &
sandals &
sweat sweat sweat,
I sweat more when I’m
drunk,
no, I don’t want
soup or tea,
ice & AC,
modesty floats by
the wayside and all I want
is autumn.

plastic smile,
plastic hair,
plastic boobs,
plastic face,
plastic personality,
plastic life.

i wouldn’t want
to be alive if
i had to pretend
i loved someone or if
every morning when i
stepped out to get
the newspaper
i got
shot in the face
with a 35mm canon.

The fisherman lived in a
fisherman’s house
next to a river
full of fish,
and he spent his days fishing
with a fishing pole
made from a
hickory stick.

One day he drifted
into a slumber,
a very deep dark sleep;
& he woke up as a fish,
swimming with fish,
swimming, swimming,
in the deep.

“Never will I ever
be caught!” he’d proclaim,
‘til the day he became a
filet.
Now all that’s left is
the fisherman’s house
where the fisherman
used to stay.

I saw a man
dying of
thirst,
dying for
water.

I saw a man
drowning in
a lake,
dying to
breathe.

Oh,
how I longed
to feel
alive.

Somewhere in the
world,
there is a man
who is planning to
kill me.
He justifies his
desire because he
perceives it to
be right,
to
be reality.

God forbid he
come near me,
for I’m not afraid
to kill him.

I’d die for
my reality,
my perception.

But,
who is wrong?

The terrorist or
the terrorized,
the cat or
the mouse?

So the story goes,
the four winds that blow
through the trees
we planted
so long ago,
do not tell the tale
of the leaves they
show,
nor the willows that sag
to the earth below.

It makes my heart heavy
and my sadness grow;
oh,
woe is me &
me is woe.

wait
& it feels
like
tomorrow,

get there &
it feels like
yesterday.