Four Horsemen at My Door

At the midnight hour
They rang
And rang
And rang
Startling us
From the safety of our blankets
Peeking through the hole
I saw them
The Four Horsemen
Tall, hooded figures
False prophets
Hands in their pockets
Behind them
Their steed—a rusty Oldsmobile
Parked at the curb
We hid in darkness
But they loomed
Footsteps atop the roof
Clank, clank, clank
Noises from both sides
Sound of their boots
Plague-ing our home
I felt them closing in
Until she flicked the lights
Brightness into the darkness
Revealing their evil
To themselves
Causing them to fly away

Beautiful Chaos

Over her mascara eyes
Jeans too tight
She wants Schnapps
At 14
Falling to the ground
Seizure-ing like she’s possessed
Images of father
In the kitchen
With mother
Cornering her
Against the wall
Drink it away
Screw it away
Another boy
From the neighborhood
Using her abused life
For his gain
Driving with crack
In strange cars
Mother drunk-sleeping
On the recliner
T.V. blaring Saturday Night Live
Another man over
Little sister upstairs
Alone with him
His coke-case stashed
Under her Barbie bed
Holes punched in the wall
Broken statue cracked
Across the floor
Date the delinquent
Cling to “Daddy”
She never had
As he abuses her
With his words
Tears in her brown eyes
Her gymnast body
So tense
Such beauty amidst
Such chaos
Swirling around her
Dragging her
To an early grave
Her bangs
Tilting to one side
As she lay in her box
The pain finally gone

Poet’s Block

Where do the words come from
Sometimes, pouring through my
Meditative mind
Images…running across consciousness
Perfectly intact poetics
Other times, days…now a week
Without a poem
The well runs dry
Anxiety fuels more blockage
Damn it
Where’s the poems
I meditate
But nothing
Nothing but shit
The poet is dead