Mad II

Its high passed noon, and eyes are bloodshot red: pass the

liquor.  Indeed I lied—to grip your love; and God understood.

I’m nearly gone, sick and confused, pleading for love. Oh

I’ve been lying, slipping down a mudslide, three inches from

hell.

I’m mad and drifting, slipping into conviction, a room full of

termites. The graves are open embody a spirit, dying through

fabled eyes. Oh I’ve been lying, bruised and fallin’, crawling

to misery. So chisel and slice and cut the bone, my evil-

eyed feather.

Oh I’ve been lying, gnawing liver, as sour as apple patches.

But something is torn, dripping sanity, nearly crazed and typing.

And damn your love—to convince a jury—a contrary heart.

And morning is so deep—a heated war, reaching for a cigarette;

and damn your love—to seal a soul—the sickest complications.