Pigs and Blood. Pigs in Mud.


Splitting darkness like divided shade
On a pleasant afternoon-
I wear my eyes closed
Because I like how it feels.
Neighborhood wind chimes
Silence their dissonance
As police sirens resound.
An alcoholic utilizes gibberish
Living out his momentary importance
As only the depraved can-
We’re beautiful sinners after 3am.
Like a pig uses mud to prevent cauterization
We elude prayer to practice being human.
Sleeping with guns by bedside
Or knives beneath withering pillows,
Blind stimulus prompts reaction
Encased in lucid abandonment
While flesh inches closer to an unsheathed blade,
We fear what’s plain.

2 thoughts on “Pigs and Blood. Pigs in Mud.

  1. P.S. When I say beautiful, I refer to your mode of expression, its form. The content itself is tragic. Always. It saddens me when we describe our failings as “human”… when we say we’re only human. I hope for the day when we equate being human with triumphs, with kindness, with beauty… “you may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one…” cheers, A.j.


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