Diagnosis in the dry tear

 She picks her foot off the shiny surface
Places on the wheel chair pad
Pushing herself forward
Wheels squeak inside the axel

Slide and whine on the hospital floor
Long and harrowing
Bumping into the doctor's leg
He bends down

He gives the bad news
A tear hits the vinyl
At first rounded on landing
Then flattened

By day's end a stain
forgotten unidentifiable
She spins the wheel chair around
Rides back to her cubicle

Some overwhelming spirit
Flickers inside of the light
Attempting morsecode to say
Relief and good fortune are on their way

The jealous aunt pulls the curtain
Flicks off the light
Reminds her sister on the stretcher
You were always a lot

Flame on legs and the moon

 The flame with legs

Crosses the quarter moon

the shallow lake 

reflects it delicately

Eyes back up to stars

Stars inside the water

supernatural mists dissapate

and manifest into the water

The flame with legs

crosses the half moon

a flooded reservoir

A nightly bather disappears

Just the happy stuff

 Just the happy stuff.
The world got to serve me up those positive vibes like pies.
Stories of hope that inspire us to take another step forward instead of backward.
Rage and disappointment and other interrruptions left you with lard in a bath.
It's looking back up at you like a living creature.
It squirms and tells all those good anecdotes you forgot from high school.
A lost friend with no bones or organs swarming over the porcelain.
Reminding you of those good realities you missed those years ago.
Just the happy stuff though.
And when you convince that long piece of purple lard that you are the bad memories.
Well then it just dehydrates and tucks into itself, blocks the drain until you can no longer wash.
You can no longer even approach the bathtub, because you killed that lard of yourself.
Convincing the purpleness that it was not grand by every ill you drudged up.
By every micro tragedy that you put your full singing voice into screaming out.
To a single witness, the long piece of lard, no longer living.
A careful friend who poisoned themselves in hope that you wouldn't.

Urgency of the professional woman

 Lucy drove her car to the family batch house. I read nervousness in her hands gripping the wheel. Driving slightly out of control. I read fury in her gestures. Taking the corners much too quickly and almost hitting the lamposts closest to the sidewalk gutter.
She looked angry and panicked at the same time. She was going to crash and seemed bent on causing the accident to come. Even though it was a thought inside her head and not outward desire to just crash.
She was going to kill me too. Her side passenger.
We approached the family house and she accelerated toward the house, killing a child who was playing on the front porch.
She ran out of the car as I remained inside the car, bleeding from a head wound and my nose, something was wrong with my leg. Lucy was a maniac and was throwing an incredible tantrum.
The child's mother came running out of the front door and mirrored Lucy's strange emotional appeal and dramatic expression. Screaming and shrieking on the front lawn.
More and more blood poured out over the seat.
"Is this my fault somehow?" I thought to myself.
From the second story another woman in her seventies looked down at the incident. She nodded as if she had been expecting it all. 

A sprint.

 I ran through hell. A suspended glass corridor. Under a huge pit of fire.
Sparks fly like birds, brimstone drops and cracks the glass.

I sprint across the glass naked and burning.
The pain reaches every centimeter of skin.
I scream and make it to the other side.
Struggle with the door.

Before me stands a mirror exposing all
Every monster and demon who has latched on
During those days when everything was about surviving
I turned to avoid the ugliness

Yet behind me another mirror appeared
And showed me infinitely evil
Like I was just getting started
I woke like a sword swinging

Burn marks up and down my body
hell so incredibly real
The world a simple game
Dressed up as complex

Lanky and free

 Happy go lucky
Lanky and free
The man with several women

Who wakes when he wakes
In a barn with a batch attached
Cigarette lit before coffee

A cliche repeating joke
Mixing nostalgia with stubborn low wit
He gets into his old rusted out datsun

Winds down the window 
Hoiks a loogie
Pulls a burnout

Meets the shitkickers for a snack and joint
Nothing's new the world is small
The urgent child is still navigating his restless mind

Danubian wrath

 This stretch of the river is trecherous
The riverbed littered with broken wrecks
This part, many a boat capsizes
Taken down before they realize
Whatever lives under its banks
Unseen giant teeth tug claws yank
Consumes the helpless
surface blood boil mess

The current is not natural
Flows contrarian and lateral
water courses randomly through
Convincing eyes that lies are true
Like a hungry serpent searching
Bodies of drowning merchants
through the dark depths 
among the old wrecks

This measure of the river is deadly
Something curls willow roots warily
Stay inside the safety of your boat
Grab rudder, pray, you stay afloat
If you hear a knocking underneath
Attend it not less cetain death