Train Station Gitanes

Winter comes to quiet the crying Fall
turning evergreens into static brides
exposing the naked twigs
on the desert of blue

Cold crawls on my bed
like the dwelling phantom
of a wondering cadaver
as I bite the edge of the blanket
wondering where you are
and where I am
and write myself to sleep

Morning comes to chase the night away
swift sunbeams, fiery katana swords
slice its essence, as it bleeds in yellow and orange
and you're not here

Blood, coffee, rushing to my head (I can't tell them apart anymore)
hot water on my face
the decrepit piano of my body
stumbles from the bedroom to the bathroom
from the kitchen to hell

Maybe I'm just a picture in the photo album
corner of your scrapbook
napkin with a phone number tattoo

maybe you think I'll be waiting
like mortals wait for death
I know you think I missed my train
and I did
but I belong to somebody else

Autopsy

I can't
I'm out
no matter how hard I try
it's gone
I stand naked before you
unzip my chest completely open
like the swing doors of an autopsy
I offer you my heart
like a beggar begs for handouts
my heart, scarred and ran over
like a vet in life support
with the expression of a wrinkled pear

Come, join me
let's walk on the train tracks
holding hands on the way to the morgue
I want to see if you can recognize me
by something other than my twisted smile
Come, even if just out of pity
let's hitch a ride in the carpool hearst
to my stupid inspiration's funeral

Like a kid with empty pockets
like a drunk with out a bottle
the poetry musical box is broken
and the paint has already dried
look at the procession, in the distance
waving good bye