Monday, August 31, 2009

Passing

your step follows mine
twigs cracking over trust
leaves crumbling to dust
tattered jeans frayed
on mud glazed boots
they grace your body
the curves of your hips
coaxing me to continue
the soft down vest holds
the warmth of your heart
hardly held back by fabric
autumn leaves approach
brisk beauty in heat dying
and we hold our cold hands
grip tighter fumbling thumbs
on the pads of hands in love
plunging into the unknown
fording streams and valleys
mountain highs guided by
the stars and thick swamps
abiding by the lights blinking
of a million fireflies wrinkling
time into bunched moments
swirling in the dark together
until you and I collide as one
dark forest of shadows running
silhouettes of life passing us by

– Jason Kichline

Trigger

all the parameters are set
inevitable discovery of her
tubes of red and green goo
as chemicals in a teenage brain
hair triggers held by mad men
wires crossed and hot soldered
under dust and guarded thought
onto boards built over years
circuits emotionally complex
thwarting understanding to
disarm in any calming way
tick tock tick, the clock goes
when it stops, nobody knows
wire nuts twisted electrons
grey duct tape holds alarm
affixed last minute for fun
and her biology clicks slow
countdown to a pent up rush
of destructive sexual explosion
the nucleus of a chain reaction
self respect diminishing while
satisfaction of others expands
like piping hot gases incinerating
and I stand over her watching
coaxing the unstoppable LED
red and blue wire choices
only me, wire cutters
and a pair of balls

– Jason Kichline

Serpent

sly sights of sideways slithering
seeing still segues sliding aside
so sad she simply soothes me
something sinister my soul sighs
so show me this stem so isolated
it seems simply silly his instructions
still separate dreams assembling soils
sands and skies such a sad existence
so let's sully these stupid ceremonies
his presence casts shadows of sacred sin
so listen, sense the silence of small voices
serpents rustlings mixes in leaves and trees
subtly shifting in sovereign dissatisfaction
since listening ceased, subduing stopped
as this serpent sought sunlight in shadows
as fists shake against God's solemn wishes
as smirks gasp at stumbled destinies sealed

– Jason Kichline

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Longing Come Home

fine lace cannot cover her nakedness
thick eyeliner and lipstick attracts
the men from dark to darker places
like flies circle the corpse circling her
thin legs on high narrow heels driving
sex allure from her hips and breasts
the sachet of fragrance held between
swings like flesh in a hypnotic dance
enchanting her lovers into a trance
they always come back for seconds
but her face downcast from knowing
she sold all she is worth for wealth
trading security and the previous taste
of love for something forever lacking
but that night she strutted her stuff and
a familiar man bought her for a price
not to have his way with her but so that
her God could make a way through her
and going to a house of loneliness she
saw the eyes of her lover who had paid
then mascara and shadow flowed as rain
knees weak buckled under lifted strain
reddened lips glistened and opened wide
to sing praises over him as she cried
and oil fell to destroy that way of life
to unite the lover to the loved not as
a master wielding power for pleasure
but a husband yielding to her treasure
poured over him like tears knotted hair
oil filling the room with wails in walls
muddy knees, lousy lace, smeared face
tangled hair, busted pumps, lost wages
and all staring at this scene uncertain
but this story will never be lost in ages
for it is told by lives again and again
and recounted by the words in pages
the moment a lost lover lifted lips
raised eye to eye, seeing only beauty
for his long lost longing come home

– Jason Kichline

Rest

thoughts mix with blank stares
confused lack of hearing words
just sounds as the brain sleeps
wondering what lips prepare
staying awake just as absurd
as love far from a heart leaps
so when the body releases cares
as desperate peeps of distant birds
a soul opens rest back into it's keeps

– Jason Kichline

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Ignorance

peeling plastic vinyl wafts a
chemical fragrance of foreign
fabric, hot sheen of colors flown
rendered as a regal cartoon
static cling and magnetic tape
slapping the label on the gate
a bumper or side panel makes the
perfect spot to highlight pride
and pride is just what it shows
two twisted strands of freedom
homogenized with every cause
and louder they whisper without
impact as the bomb craters have
they change lives with real loss
the huge Hummer gobbles up the
future as liquid black reserves
the youth gobble up a blessing
as the grave consumes flesh
and we stand waving the flag
the symbol of a proud and selfish
people without knowledge that
the sticker or magnet that
gives you clout about who
loves their country all the more
really underscores she is a whore
turning tricks to Chinese plastic
and Arab oil and makes me think
what do we produce and export
now aside from ignorance?

– Jason Kichline

Lush

nothing more than perfect
wrapped in weak mistakes
gathered from the wastelands
the trappings of her take

desert forms the boundaries
as dew presents the berries
in early morning revelation
a glistened harvest tarries

waiting for the farmboy
lured from his deep sleep
browsing among the valley
a verdant vengeance to reap

her fruit is challenged and crushed
pushing life through cracked ground
hoping love both lush and flushed
ripens quick and comes around

– Jason Kichline

Friday, August 28, 2009

Moments

moments drop from sky
passing through the air
rain falling as a sigh
sounds releasing care

savoring the drizzled drips
a morning good to the last
earth presses parched lips
against waters flowing fast

catching sleep caught in the rain
we can run or dance in the wet
but mostly folks can only complain
about moments we shouldn't forget

– Jason Kichline

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Toast

poured in from the spirit mash
breathed and dripped from earth
steam condensing as heavens clash
filling the taste of a master's mirth

and made of wood freshly felled
the Cooper bends upon the knee
wrapped in bands of tensile steel
the barrel formed for what will be

burnt and charred to perfect pitch
the soul now flowing to the cask
placed in the dark and lonely place
the fire held for years to task

the barrel is picked by the one
who taps and tastes what is good
He picks the flavor for His guests
pouring eternal from the wood

casting out the ribs and bands
the liquor bottled for the feast
kindling burned on funeral pyre
precious gold got from deceased

we savor now the precious drops
of aged souls we commune as one
unity in purity and caramel tones
celebrate finish when we're done

– Jason Kichline

Oracle

school bus arrives
running to the door
upset from the jokes
then nobody is home
his heart leaps excited
to meet with her again
he pulls out this shrine
and prepares a sacrifice
love turned backwards
lust grasped in hands
fantasy is far simpler
and she, accessible
unlike real women
under the bed and
dark paneled floors
behind closed doors
boy's dreams awaken
lonely and cold guilty
shame the house built
a father forgotten and
the keys thrown away
bastard child to crime
but she listens always
she's blonde with skin
a beautiful seductress
perfected and airbrushed
there to listen to the hidden
and coax him to release again
the pressures of being younger
he hates coming to her at night
like an oracle, she summons him
offering the dark drug of passion
choking on stroked purple hazes
but it makes him feel like a man
that the weaknesses he walks
become strengths in secret
and she's always happy
always excited to see
nobody else cares
because he is
rejected
I...
I...
I...
I...
I'm sorry for doing it again...
it just feels so good why can't I stop?
some kind of loser failing again into the pit with eyes open?
this cycle of my worthlessness and nothingness always brings me back to her

– Jason Kichline

Tyler

the town of Tyler sits well beyond
the bounds of a skyline silouetted dawn
over dusty roads and through timely lands
over distant mountains and bare buckled bends
losing our way in a rust bucket Datsun
with no hope for our normal divine navigator
for the passenger seat was ripped out and gone
and filled with foul fluid and used gum wrappers

as the sun presses against the last of day's edges
narrowing over a bridge and above the hedges
a coarse sign appears, dimpled of shotgun fire
and it reads, "Now Entering the Town of Tyler"
lost for words or maps or simple direction
lost because the place is nowhere to be found
tailed by a beater pickup, we fear rejection
hailed to halt, we ran our journey aground

a frightening man in a torn blue cotton shirt
slams the blue door with anger overly overt
and struts to our door as we struggle to stay
for the fear of our folly, we sensed we were prey
in evil tones hurled thick through a sick country twang
he yells at us uncouth, "what's the matter with you?"
then leaned on the car, his bad breath uttering slang
"you better've brought proof of your proper PQ"

"PQ?" we questioned with even less than a clue
"What are you talking about, what does it do?"
he yelled and stormed in rage back to his truck
and reached deep inside, grabbing a gun with tug
the driver jammed gears and with a whirl and bang
we sped down the road, trembling deeper inside
fleeing toward town, away from harsh harangue
three strangers alone without a gun or a guide

inside the town limits, we encountered our scare
that traversing the roads was not a normal affair
and soon we were surrounded by villager's enraged
and blunt war for trespassing was unilaterally waged
we tried to explain that we were lost and confused
"We're not from around here, just trying to trudge"
they just screamed and demanded again those "PQs"
then we were hauled off to jail and awaited the judge

in an hour she came quick and eager to meet
for those from afar where now kept in her keep
we explained that these rules were foreign to us
and she listened intently but with mostly distrust
we said we are just trying to get home for the night
we took a wrong turn and needed help to get back
so she scolded us again for not doing what is "right"
and with marker in hand, began sketching the track

"You see, trespassing here is never condoned,
  each tract of land and the roads are privately owned
  you see, here is the town, and here are the roads
  and if you travel the wrong ones, you break all the codes
  they're unwritten you see, and the punishment is free
  they can do what they want to, like torture or screw
  you see, to go through the town you need a decree
  or to know the one narrow way, but I suggest a PQ"

"So what's a PQ?", we honest and anxiously asked
"If we would've known, we could've completed the task"
"A PQ is the permit that permits you to pass.
You can buy one right here, and avoid the harass."
So we reached in our pockets and gathered the bucks
and purchased legality that lawful lawlessness lets
and while the town's borders are constantly in flux
we can move on without unloving ambush or threats

so if you are traveling alone or very late in the night
in your life, in your heart, think you're doing what's "right"
you may find yourself lost and scrambling for help
and the townsfolk may find you, hearing your yelp
but animals they are, and using rules as an excuse
take you, and rape you and fulfill natural desire
and with no proper "PQs" you will suffer abuse
for all will pass through the town we named Tyler

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Unbreakable

people are extensions of ourselves
as the two shall become one flesh
this is not meant to be mystery
some friends are born attached
never will that connection falter
then some are assembled by man
from desires within heart and body
fewer are those brought together
not by man or by birth, but by God
two souls locked tight as puzzle pieces
painting pictures more beautiful than
a simple, nearsighted lust can capture
a simple, yet powerful union of two
threatening all forms of earthly love
committed as a vow of love to God
not wrapped in legalese, but in the
language of love, unmentionable
knowing in hearts the closeness
showing in parts beyond skin
drawing in to unite the soul
wrapping flesh around as
our cords, unbreakable

– Jason Kichline

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

The Guarding of Eden

the promise of love is written in mud
the terrestrial landmark on fallen earth
the cosmic writing on a stalemate wall
the ink made from temporal tolerance

were we made to rewrite this pattern?
were we drawn on the black and white?
were not the canvases prepped and ready?
were not the created deemed good or right?

we trudge onward east of our Eden
we poke calloused fingers into ground
we smudge symbolically on flatter stones
we proclaim in contract our undying love

rain pours again
pain soars within
bane born for sin
stained cries arise
Cain killed and dies

our markings rinse flowing from rocks
our blood washed clean into the cracks
our buds bloom primrose in spring dawn
our mud promise requires to be redrawn

death died in life is not the same
life lived by the year is not a game
peace increases as the heart is beaten
wars waged against the guarding of Eden

– Jason Kichline

Shirtless

rose bells ring the door of her heart
love comes not straight on but sideways
corners of eyes backed into brick walls
the invisible ones you don't see approaching
hers is a logical mind over heart over body
shouting all for one and one for all
strength found in simplified complexity
but the one tall one all the harder falls
shattering strongholds reinforced for the
shortest distance between meant to be
is not "a" to "b" in your religional line
inserting flaps and tabs to assemble
cookiecutter mass produced oneness
but the curve that grazes your skin
sharpened and slicing without hurt
deep and diving into who you are
because pure doses of genuine friend
the "rip my shirt off of my back" kind
confuses the cold that it fits so well
warming locks and letting desire enter
because for you, love cannot be perfect
but when perfection comes the imperfect
just wants to own the whole wardrobe
and knowing your now covered flaws
disappears to locked it up in your closet
in a pretty clean bedroom with skeletons
and you're wearing your tattered rags
and I'm left here naked and shirtless

– Jason Kichline

Monday, August 24, 2009

Sack

hey there mister far away guy
looks like you are walking away
in your ratty old jeans and boots
a flannel shirt that don't hold much
except your utter lack of good looks
"bones", is that what they call you?
I think it's neat how you strapped
that black sack garbage bag to you
not that I've ever had to carry one
for miles anyway, I'd just hold mine
hold it in my hand like life itself
like the lovely parfait I ate today
off the tray with the silver spoon
I never had to gather life from
gutters or alleys or trash heaps
pieces picked up and smelling bits
to see if they reek too much
like vomit or death or feces
stack it in your sack for later
and walk the streets glaring at
the people that have screwed you
I'm not sure who would want to
screw you that is, either way..
certainly not I, far be it from me
it's not my fault you are a loser a
failed contestant on the life is right
didn't anyone ever tell you that this...
this is the arena in a grand competition
here I stand all suited up in my armor
just listen to the crowd cheer
just listen to the mockers jeer
that's your name they are calling
and you disrespect me with nudity
and the emperor clearly looks at me
your head bowed and your weapons
what weapons? oh yeah, you have none
no occupation, no insurance, no benefits
just you, your bag, some clothes that sag
and my magnificence standing over you
like the gods standing on the mount of
which ever mount you think God stands on
but for me, I look up and there he is
his thumb sideways just hitching a ride
his thumb turns up to approve of me
his thumb...
up...
oh well, I guess I'll let you go then
nice chat anyway, I got to go
wash my hands of this filth

– Jason Kichline

Humane

the dust never played nice
face first down in the pit
kicked off the merry-go-round
flying to meet the hard packed
mud holding sharp little jaggies
a torn lip and a cracked hip but
worst of all is the pride inside
wrecked instantly in public fall
children laughing, a teacher
unbelieving pause to his pleas
and the colored painted boards
and the smooth polished steel
spin faster than life can deal
pushed and pulled by peers and
pressured torment and fears
we sit spinning in the center
too fast for our own britches
too strong to hold on and our
grip slips just like those who
went before us into the dust
arms of trust fail and we sail
like ragdolls through the air
hurt, bleeding and spat on
by those who fared better
and the young boy inside
pumps his fists by his hips
pumps his feelings even deeper
pumps the keg lonely at the party
swallowing his pride with a side of
wallowing self pity and loathing
a sheep in the wolf's clothing
for he is the weak one among them
attacked and ravaged by the strong
the pack mentality of the human
animal is far less than humane

– Jason Kichline

Sunday, August 23, 2009

The Call

she has always felt the constant call
an urge to run and flee far beyond
the small town with its proper norms
boring perfect picnics or church socials
in perfect white fence church basement
with ice cream served with fake smiles
and whipped cream and stolen cherries
but she was not miss prim
and she loved "him"

a man from the far, far away city
and from city blocks the call rang
like blaring horns and sirens down a
busy street and her bustled breasts
unleashed in passion picking up
the phone and conversing
over and over and over again
wisdom wasted on the whim
and she made "love" to him

broken seals and alley token deals
more than pleasure now the pain
and one month no stain and then
panic hits like the freight train
rumbled unstoppable past home
hauling worry from green hills
to the ships in the cape sailing
low over the brim
she overflowed with him

and now a secret unable to share
killed before the fruitfulness bears
and yet the call screamed louder
never answered aware from bar or
TV in smoked and incensed beads
struggled to speak truth open as
mouths to feed and yet he flat out
denied her womb and paternal seed
and the future shaded dim
she had been rejected by him

– Jason Kichline

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Mama Bear

coarse cave and coarser fur
hair black and matted thick
tangled deep in the cold damp
hollow hiding in warming lure

coupled cubs in tidy cramped
quarters nursing at her side
tender touch tugs deeper in
beyond bearish Venus vamp

aroused and startled evil sick
crunching crash coming camp
reverses maternal mindful way
ravaging roars attacking all

those protecting untouched ire
caught between a natural fray
and love for unaltered garden call
now burnt by fear of fleshly desire

– Jason Kichline

Pappy

in painted grey we make our way
peanut butter candy cakes stashed
next to pair-and-a-spare pocket knives
and knickknacks only As Seen On TV
crisp linoleum, sparkle veneer table top
below those goldenrod steel cabinets
hiding colorful anodized aluminum cups
and the old door heavy with paint thick
and a skeleton lock and key that ain't
ever really locked without a twist turn
tire tread mats on cold floor concrete
the pungency of kept dogs and laundry
the Frigidaire that always reminded me
of diet A&W Root Beer in a Cadillac
they don't make them like they used to
down the weathered steps to narrow
decrepit cracked sidewalks hand-poured
tall grass, chain link fence, paint chips
downhill where plastic 3-wheelers roll
bouncing over bumps - da dum da dum
in the shade of chestnut tree and near
two compost bins of rotting foul dispose
combination lock under thin black vinyl
tacked to the panel shed door shedding
sharpened shards of bright white paint
probably loaded with lead or something
dim light, the aroma of wood and work
rough cut bench with tools and vices
and an off the wall antique drill press
in the smell of metal shavings and dust
he showed me the value of scrapping
the test of metals and bore my love of
technology, innovation and improvision
unending belief to make more with less
napalm driveway, recycled lead plates,
baby food jar filled with silver mercury
milked from thermometers over years
but just a flicker in his presence there
and the workshop door shuts and latches
the combination rusted and forgotten
uphill in bigger feet and pricier wheels
ages cover the work and stench fills
the empty hole of paternal presence
grass grows, paint flakes, garages fall
and white picket fences replace grey
for time waits for no man and minds
quickly turn cold and to childhood ways
reversing days as a cruel joke of biology
while in college studying driving trains
the final came and I couldn't leave but
the choo choo went chugging around
the happy bend anyway without me when
December brought the end of Pappy

– Jason Kichline

Friday, August 21, 2009

Random

dots as moments speckle time
like dust upon cleansed surfaces
or the freckles on innocent cheeks
placed as stars above the heavens
and perfection is in shattered things
for twins are told different and apart
by organic random chance etchings
they flow like the waters over sands
or licks like flames of friendly desire
we pass it off as mere consequence
our common fates without a choice
but this static lingers within chance
and is small and still just as the voice
that speaks in silence echoed words
that hardly noticed over circumstance
builds through chaos, ordered worlds
that orders lives and lengthens loves
that nothing happens here by mistake
that all is random purposely in make
guided by the timeless hand above

– Jason Kichline

Severed

the rising sky hung low as molasses
flowing through wide narrow passage
deep and blue like morning eyes
wide awake from slow surprise

in the window shone the gallant gleams
orange and charging silent streams
of thoughts in bed alone he cries
of hearts ripped from eternal ties

promises made then to break in night
words held stronger than what is right
to stay and love against the tides
though buckling waves wear on whys

in prayer and memory I remember you
for glad were moments I thought were true
so severing the cord my heart denies
and stands among the faithful wise

– Jason Kichline

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Emptied

to the measure poured out, I am emptied
and so emptiness echos within stone walls
a wine created from water and love flowed
out to celebrate true union of one another
so I am poured out, the finest wine saved
for last and splashed in my face "wake up
this is only a miracle stupid, and how do
you expect a marriage to be anything but
a woman bought then owned by a man?"
dumped from the heart what pumped in
my veins, a blood deep cut red and lush
but you didn't savor, you threw real love
away like dirty water and not the fruit of
the vine that grows abiding in the truth
but wine is cut from ripen orbs trampled
underfoot, pulverized and sealed in casks
fermented in time and aged to perfection
perhaps some love is not born this instant
perhaps the hollow heart waits to be filled
perhaps the master of wine raises the glass
perhaps the master of ceremonies toasts to
a sweetened elixir concocted of brokenness

– Jason Kichline

Cancer

despair nags from fallen grey
a face sags away as does hair
as wisps of dandelion portray
dark as day the wrinkles crease
in folds of thin pain surfaced where
beauty abandoned advanced disease
head wrapped in rags of color fair
to cheer children desperate afraid
for grandma goes closer to the grave
as up in smoke, the living fades
as dim and damp as a gaping cave
a life scalded into stark white gowns
weary and walking towards the shade
a fruited tree in anguished heat is found
above a bald head seeking eternal crown

– Jason Kichline

Images

a pattern cut from common copse
an image cemented before the seas
a model of perfect light and drops
dew that settles on earth and trees

made after man this religion mold
made for understanding drastic dreams
made not of God, but mud and stone
pulled from heights, washed in streams

set on high and worshipped there
set appearance of terrestrial beings
set above to gloat and glare
below the subject underlings

how false a god perceived in vain
how finite these concepts of our age
how infinite wisdom is only obtained
from those made perfect in God's image

– Jason Kichline

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Failure

washed up clothes in a liquor soaked basket
grave soiled trousers and a fine woolen coat
hopes and visions barred and nailed in a casket
sorry sights gaze at the sad sordid bloat

simple red pine boards, knotted and cursed
carved by kindly divine carpenter folk
rusted the hammer and dull the unblind
custom hand-hewn for this sizable bloke

speak the undead unspoken scroll said
as demons devise their pallbearing paths
dust of the ground and mud where they tread
down to the dock to porter wronged wraths

make room on the ship and place me aboard
set sail for the failure, I've charted the course
dehydrated gulls crushed below where they've soared
chaos engulfs a once assembled accord
billed for the journey twice we couldn't afford
a final notice invoice, collecting remorse

– Jason Kichline

Antidote

from a pit of snakes, the snakes arise
one among the venom lies
one quite different in his ways
cast beyond the righteous gaze
and cast in bronze, the living dies

he dies for life who look to see
held high with sticks by men like me
for while the judgers bite these days
the cure is more than word conveys
but's life in death caught up in trees

trees that sway and clap their hands
real worship sealed in rocks and lands
the sky and waters, clay obeys
the will of one who shines the rays
of light that snakes can't understand

so standing in my cooling shade
and standing in the pools to wade
I comprehend this common phrase
love of the game goes to he who plays
for otherwise the frenzy fades

fading fast from what's in veins
vision blurred from flowing pains
the venom spreads it's toxic haze
weak knees contort, delirium prays
to the image of the crimson stains

stains of blood and sweat and stings
the cure for which I'm seeking things
the things of life beyond this craze
of eternal antidote he pays
a drug from venom's death he brings

brought to me and bought for all
this one way up for those who fall
to believe as one no longer strays
to believe in one with endless praise
to believe as one who continues to crawl
to believe in one and answer the call

Jason Kichline

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Transferable

I was the perfect one to take the fall
your wounded heart was what I saw
under pure white exterior you bore all
plump and pink pumping beats of desire

in the corner I noticed a rupturing tear
one you had hidden, too heavy to bear
dark purple and black, it oozed of wear
and it was your fragility I choose to admire

how perfect you are and lovely in youth
but some boy in the past had stolen your truth
so while every one sees the beauty in you
you only feel the hurt and the mire

so perhaps who I am was the perfect man
to pin all your pain and blame what you can
thinking that I would or could understand
that wounds are transferable over the wire

so now I am left alone and picking at pain
holding your hurt with only myself to blame
because I chose to love you with your shame
and pray this exchange has lifted you higher

– Jason Kichline

Awkward Space

"hold me" her heart whispers
yet awkward distance remains
warm flesh under a cool chill
starry night gleaming off of
glass steel crystal fortresses
and rays of lamps reflecting
a city dwelt of a million sparks
of two young hearts touching
how these butterflies dance
dipping low to drink of slow
still waters like juicy fragments
of liquid mirrors seeing only up
the optimism of love propels
the whole of concrete and light
floating as air away leaving
only you and I and that old
strange space on the bench
can we narrow it down to two?
slowly hips and hands slide
closing the widest of gaps
the one between childhood
friends turned lovers with you

– Jason Kichline

Monday, August 17, 2009

Words

words fall from full pregnant feelings
like emotion taken up into the clouds
weighing heavy in the cooling force
of spirit, they gather and drop freely
spinning and forming into droplets
these words and phrases that coalesce
not logical formation of cold wisdom
but the condensation of living beings
an essence as seen out of the corner
falling through the ethereal fabric sky
dripping on wet glossy inked papers in
a mind freed from its earthen moorings
making black blots to be psychoanalyzed
reviewed by those who don't understand
the message is ignited as flame between
the conscious mind interpreting nonsense
sparks the synapse between left and right
perceptions derived from grey-pink process
of collecting the dew from the pale leaves
wringing planted hands of the moisture
and looking at the hot steaming waters
drunk from the sipping of dark elixirs
emptied on the bottom perfect porcelain
and the leaves tell the tale of the drinker
read by the feeler and not the thinker

– Jason Kichline

Mediocrity

so you hate mediocrity huh?
well it sucks to be you then
I feel sorry for you, really...
because you sit in judgement
unable to enjoy joy or anything
that doesn't live up to perfection
you have a warped sense of it
nobody is perfect, bucko
that includes you too
but you are too blind to see
the scales you wait upon
the weight you place on
the other arm teetering
like a big bully on the playground
no match for little ones on the seesaw
and so you just sit there
with your ass on the ground
laughing at everyone playing
conquering plank and lever
nobody can live up to you
your expectations of reality
I pity your children
if you ever have them
if your selfish pride lets you love
to love beyond your own glorification
to allow anyone to live and learn mistakes
so nobody tries
and they just let you
pound your flawed fists
against the realization that
you will never be perfect until
you learn humility
and earn joy in
being second

– Jason Kichline

Chatter

a song of life
talk over whispers
like stacked trash
on a runaway train
like stacked teeth
on a dental plan
we pass the tray
and each take one
wait our turn at
the all-at-once
one-size-fits-all
party on the corner
he over here and her
over there and stare
share the moment
conversations layer
too many concurrent
shouts to the shouting
and I can only listen
to maybe two or three
I don't think I like that
but in hot verb chaos
is where life is defined
part of the glow hum
pulsating from earth
thanks for the days
the ones to come
as if flying by by
the seat of my pants
doesn't see God in it
and paint canvases
and as sleep awaits
expectancy expects
nothing is truly free

– Jason Kichline

Worry

I laugh at many
in the endless tide
doors held unsteady
tussled tops unsure
why ride higher while
gripping sipping honey
sweeter from the hive?
giggles echo cackles
as street lamps stare
down the moon beams
shadows surround life
awakened in a dream
fumbling finer things
glorious alive to us all
we, are always satisfied
by not enough - more
now back to your
regularly scheduled
program... of worry
this was only a test
(beep)

– Jason Kichline

Envy

envy cries as
a mother dies
in the arms of
a child unborn
a heart is torn
of languished love
from lustful lies
and ways unwise
but from above
the dove adorns
a failure forlorn
give shame a shove
as grace defies
a thousand tries
to the victory of
a newborn's cries

– Jason Kichline

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Apathy

where has care flown?
beyond the depths of our dreams?
or over the mountains of challenge?
we are all in debt with nothing owned
and we rid ourselves of worry
and we rid ourselves of worth
do we pay or just remain
bankrupt?
nothing gained
nothing earned
trapped in a prison of apathy
expecting everything from nothing
and nothing is just what we get
and we blame it on the universe
or maybe luck or fate or even God
raising empty requests full of ignorance
prayers without an envelope
sent to the wrong address
with the wrong postage
and the wrong message
closed ears to the spoken tune
closed eyes to the silent moon
and in silent stillness we die
over and over like the night
without a care in the dark
burned away at the dawn
life goes on whether or not
we grab it by proverbial horns
to live as we believe
to live in authenticity
to live beyond apathy

– Jason Kichline

Herkimer

the voice inside my head
there he is burrowed deeply
he lives in my ear you know...
at least that's what Pop Pop said
everyone else seemed to know too
eight legs and mighty small
little boy's ears are not that big
and every now and then he'd crawl
usually after a bath or before bedtime
after all spiders hate water
but you know they love the dark
so imagine my surprise to find
that imagination forms reality
a voice comforting through shouted arguments
a voice urging me on through grade school bullies
a voice speaking calm through wisdom and kindness
he is the very best of imaginary friends
the one that stays hidden inside
the one who is one with your thoughts
the one you never have seen anyway
perhaps he has always been there
perhaps his name was just invented
by a crazy yet endearing old man
who loved to dip spiders in rich
chocolate for a crunchy snack
so holding my ears I protected him
as Pop Pop reached out to steal him
and tickled my ears to make him come
he never did, he likes the warmth
of an open mind where he climbs
Herkimer still living inside me

– Jason Kichline

Saturate

how do we explain that which cannot be?
or define the existence of the solely experiential?
that which cannot be summoned through a creed
as if repetition of human words had any power
oh, how man attempts to capture with rhetoric
like chains wrapped around the elusive beast
and force the hidden and tangible to the surface
closely to photograph and rape it's mystique
no wonder the presence flees the present
and we question the power of the divine
while we in this coarse and crafty vessel
float on salty waters spraying in our faces
thinking we own the ocean when the thing...
the very thing to be caught has always been
always will be out there in the deep and wide
and us, adrift on the wood of forests as wet rats
cast our line overboard, and drag our silly nets
with missing teeth, missing home, a scrubby lot
saturated in the soaking moment of the chase
forgetting the splendor of the sea and
all that dwells in an unknown grace

– Jason Kichline

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Evening

evening falls...
what a stupid phrase
evening build as a crescendo
the moist cool of earth rises
like unseen walls of a temple
trees solid as stark buttresses
sky fades from pink to blue
as by an artist and a chapel
handpainted, reflecting day
the sighing song of life volley
as echoed choir or pipe organ
reverberating of stained glass
over mud and sustained grass
silhouettes of beautiful people
a moving history unrenderable
by lifeless forms of refraction
the lights come on as fireflies
summoned to string the lights
on this chapel of life within day
a marriage between us and God
and no greater thing has ever been
said, or thought, or dreamt, or built

– Jason Kichline

Morning

in the grog of morn
fog lifts off simple pleasures
hidden treasures locked away
closed door of day and lay
open before troubles are born

in this scattered haze
tattered rays of distant sun
burn hot overrunning the blue
open sky truth comes unglued
as closed eyes find lost ways

clarity awakes again
shakes loose sun baked clay
fractured, melting and molded
mud thrown, cold and folded
enclosed in open minds to bend

– Jason Kichline

Friday, August 14, 2009

Individual

in a sea of individualism
crash and clash the colors
freedom to be different
blending into normalcy
the waves rise and fall
like the tides of turmoil
ever eternal and ebbing of
trough of hate, crest of love
selfish pursuit of selfless gain
and when breath of life dies
and youth withers like hay
what of this crowd remains?
the battle lines are drawn
for a difference to become
come of age, become as one
and if today were the day
and death comes at dawn
will that which survives
continue from here on?
or be gone like the wind
because we did divide?

– Jason Kichline

Domestic Queen

sullen eyes set on honeymoon dreams
wrapped in bathrobes fresh from the spa
swollen thighs regret Hollywood scenes
and swollen feet rest and rise to Ra

lounged on lazy looms of luxury
she drags a cigarette for more
more for sense of self on TV
more for chores behind bedroom door

the early sun chases fog away
as does rich coffee held in her hand
she keeps the responsibility at bay
by sending to work the captive man

every morning I pass her tacit take
on what her life may truly mean
to powder and puff each morn awake
and sit enthroned, a domestic queen

– Jason Kichline

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Old Man

"Come on old man, what are you thinking?"
the youngsters shout with their proud whippy snaps
they mock his wisdom cast behind winking
under bushy white brows, his eternity naps

"prove you are real, you ancient of days"
as concerned wrinkles roll and gather in place
proud rosy cheeks smile south of his gaze
and the light of joy shines bright from his face

perhaps he just ignores their incessant jests
or hearing cries through millennia deafens ears
because love like fond memories at happiness best
radiates an odd countenance seemingly senile in years

these mockers soon silence, for no anger is raised
the old man speaks softly, if not subtly crazed
"there you are kids, I'm so happy you came...",
"it's been so long, and yet you still seem the same"

he holds out his arms to procure an embrace
most head for the doors as if they've been chased
but some stay behind, more curious I suppose
that the one whom they hate would draw them so close

so sorry was one who had stayed left behind
that he cried for forgiveness for what he had done
and confused the man appeared as if he were blind
and forgetful beyond all us mere mortals in time
fixed his eyes on the one, and with uncanny words kind
said, "whatever you're talking about is forgiven my son"

– Jason Kichline

Shards

sharpened shards blown to pieces
ruptured fragments of perfection
glimmer and dance in the twinkle
as safety glass on skidded asphalt
fractured beyond real recognition
each piece unique as a rough jewel
seen like sand, a minuscule crystal
who could put humpty together?
yet hands reach beyond the here
touching each piece in brokenness
beauty seen by it's original worth
delicate vase holds budding glory
shattered like silence on the scene
he gathers every piece and waits
slowly finding matches and mates
allowing the parts to find a place
falling, failing and tumble to rest
he glues them together in his love
as numerous as sands cover shores
an eager child stands within time
plastic pail and spade held in hand
building beauty from a broken man

– Jason Kichline

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Unsettled

twist of spike and jagged screw
so bang the nail upside the head
stab the earth to spade the shrew
and cut the ties that strap the bed
complete the nothingness began
railed and rallied by silent cheers
held ragged as a worn out flag
colors fade from glorious years
cement the feet of agile youth
bang the head with fragile fears
unsettled as an awkward truth
unsettled as these pillowed tears

– Jason Kichline

Fallen

memories are shattered by moments
lucid reminders of our fallen state
yanking wrinkles to smooth our skirts
then hobbling tipsy on sexy red pumps
toying with love to leverage a date
tummies tucked flat within our chest
smooth words yanking crinkled blurts
brothers rush to market for this sight
stealing rewrapped used gifts of hurt
reused and tossed like cheap underwear
reminds us of the world under our feet
and the toxic air sucked into our noses
long to return to purity and love of old
cease the chase of wind and go back in
to regain memories from each moment
love unloved and walk barefoot as one
disrobing garments of false character
revealing us as us and not as we were
keep the heart of each other for always
hold the scared and needy child within
holiness stood upright from fresh fallen sin

– Jason Kichline

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Riverside

blue park picnic tables
under shade tree leaning
steel tube twirled as seats
paint flecks on lag bolts
and the half barked trunk
shadows over worn grasses
cockeyed scene of public
space to watch the joggers
the walkers, the sitters and
for us just to share a meal
wind brushing steep banks
crinkles discarded dessert or
random used tennis shoes
guitar strums sing aloft the
warm summer hazy breeze
and the trees applaud the
coming waters like a lake
but flow stead onwards to
bridge after bridge after...
geometric iron or concrete
cast into stone or pillars of
rock and railroad trestles
but this spot is special for
there's not many past town
this river flows beyond and
wide is her girth and shallow
she breaths a sigh of lumber
song sung since the one dawn
louder or softer over the age
but in this moment it's here
wonderful and mingled among
the chatter of people talking
the rhythm of feet walking
and the beats of two hearts
sharing each other in all of
eternity disguised as a meal
but so much more than what
we feel, this side of riverside

– Jason Kichline

Beauty

where does beauty lie if not in you?
the mundane holds beauty like a jewel
locked behind layers of the ordinary
encrusted on the surface of the aged
entrusted to only those sight is endued
it surrounds us as the air of the sky
invisible in nearness yet in orange or blue
distant in perception of a treasured hue
people, plants or pets whether old or new
shiny bright in our wonder and yet fade
to average as the interesting edges wear
worn out like old socks tossed in a drawer
washed with water and sand over time made
pieces of each other in the friction and pain
shaping and polishing all to the very same
smooth rocks of collective color wonder while
we are picked glistening from beauty by a child

– Jason Kichline

Monday, August 10, 2009

Selfish

am I selfish?
even the question requires
a self-centered inspection
answering "no" is a lie
answering "yes", a trap
beyond personal reflection
each lives and breaths solo
food for the stomach and
lungs for air, more oxygen
all I can eat and breathe
every desire fulfilled
every taste insatiable
how can a self-based being
be anything but a fiend?
just manners and emotion
covering bone and blood
a pretty coat of paint on
the same animal frame?
or is there divinity in this?
an authentic ability to
love each other in humility
where ambition follows sanity
and humanity rules vanity

– Jason Kichline

Esteem

empowering on it's own
a cast metal trap boiling
a vaporous overflow
of hot air of the kind
to swear by

heated passion welling
a fire deep in the belly
smoldered coals burning
hotter in bellowed wind
to fly by

simple chemical physics of
the most natural element
we are sixty percent of it
made of the heated water
to die by

bold mechanics articulated
designed by master craftsmen
assembled unique, each part
dead with no fire or conductor
to strive by

but steam courses in the tubes
the source of power boiling hot
form and function merge victory
our minds made up merely let
then purpose and direction set
to thrive by

– Jason Kichline

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Frankenstein

she cradles him in love
this girl in a dusty barn
white tank top and overalls
with tan steel toed work boots
she's an adoptive mother of love
holds a young lump of precious
bony legs and wiggly hooves
a tongue lapping at milk jugs
rubbed bumps, sprouting nubs
coaxed to stand on uncertainty
between muscular legs holding
from falling in frigid fainting
and this goat of austere auspice
becomes a centerpiece of a life
lifted beyond mere faulty limbs
a sign of rural land not erased
but tended and tilled in hearts

– Jason Kichline

Superhero

the mouth bit the inner lip
sharp plastic covers sweat
of breath beneath the mask
to be someone else for now
elastic straps and eye slits
a blurred vision and hearing
hot sheets or pillows stuff
false bellies, muscles or such
pretending becomes real and
we are asked "who are you?"
declared in squeaky muffles
back then we knew who we
were, so sure of our futures
and now behind the mask
affixed permanent upon us
no more thin rubber bands
outfits held fast under skin
padding and pillows now real
hung guts or saggy boobs
witchy warts not removed
vision short and following...
where do the demons lead in
the darkness, is there candy?
for titles carved in stone
our limps engraved in bone
behavior judged by grownups
and expectations held as a cape
taut strings choking my throat
like I'm some kind of superhero

– Jason Kichline

Ambition

ambition is a mad man's dream
pounding on the door of peace
restless wakings of a struggle
of the mind and spirit colliding
this neverending cycle of chase
and a never catching the whirl
lost on desert dunes but blinded
by the very windstorm sought
where is a heart in all of this?
a fruitless search in an orchard
a dry mouth carrying the pails
wishing for more and receiving
all that he doesn't really need
more busyness, more motivation
pride converted into toxic fuel
burning away youth reserved
dying faster in all the thrill
for a life lived as a dream
lost as easily as morning

– Jason Kichline

Truth

Truth appears unseemly
yearning discovery like
secret sin or hidden love
crouching behind facades
crying out of loneliness
she wants to be seen
often she is ugly without
fine makeup and jewelry
just plain as-is to be seen
unattractive but now stands
against that lewd seductress
Lies, ignoring light in lieu
she moves smooth as always
covers rotting stink with silk
cheap and easy is her slavery
but in Truth is purity, desire
looks me in the eye as equals
and we are both ugly, used,
hated and despised by Lies
but we have each other now
rolled in dirt and mossy mud
crawled through Hell and back
but now I know her intimately
more closely touching Truth

– Jason Kichline

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Dim

the warmth of the cold ray tube
illuminates the place in my heart
glows flicker and shadow on you
out of static and poor reception
your form appears from beyond
even in the dark of night dreams
a presence like an angelic specter
peaceful as you look when asleep
curled up in blankets on the sofa
stray strands of your hair fall free
sable rush of forbidden waterfalls
beg to be tucked behind your ear
cheekbone caressed in tenderness
pressing my hand on yours, held
your lips dry, cry for moist kisses
I feel these soft breaths touching
warm and steady from your nose
so close to knowing this intimacy
loving you in pure and perfection
the bulb flickers, the signal fades
gushing sounds of so many waters
pulsating light of desire goes dim
and this memory that never was
remains the one that never will be
residing only in unawakened whim

– Jason Kichline

Friday, August 7, 2009

School Bus

odd the things that stick
the smell of warm vinyl
warm wafts of asphalt
drifting off sticky humid
skin textured leatherette
true brown as a crayon
puke green schmutz patch
covers the tear on the flat
seat back that blankly stares
at my numb tired forehead
dangling arms sway bumps
curious hands find surprises
as sticky used pastel gum
stuck in thin black fabric
dust and dirt trail on gray
floor burned into closed eyes
the dread of an early morning
or hot tired sun of long day
can't wait for the jerky stop
hop to life and brush it off
the dust of daily turbulence

– Jason Kichline

Pop Tarts

what can satisfy more than
strawberry Pop-Tarts and milk?
frosted of course with sprinkles
they don't make plain anymore
colors dancing on simple sugars
concealing the gooey good inside
shiny thin foil keeps it's moistness
a perfect crunchy sculpture of
modern miracles of machines
and consumable chemistry
but what can satisfy more than
a girl declaring joy over pastry?
morning waking from slumber
favorite nightshirt, fuzzy slippers
still young but old enough to dream
and see beyond circumstance to more
caught between the pressing of planes
of plain life contains such sweetness
decorated in perfect frosted moments
revealed beneath thin fresh coverings
keeping pure the pleasure perceived
of a little princess growing up

Dedicated to Katie

– Jason Kichline

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Hooks

he had no arms
no god damned arms!
just plastic cones
up to elbows with it
he opted for function
over normalcy and form
hooks... just damn hooks!
a man who cheated death
grabbing life like a wet towel
sensing no touch of the sensual
just the loss of what was real
replaced by not so custom looks
dark shades of beige a poor mirage
of the deep hue of proud heritage
breathing through a blue mask
to prevent some hemorrhage
he walked along and I...
I didn't acknowledge him
perhaps because I was driving
two good hands, two good arms
grasping at the leather wheel
I could breathe
I could feel
I could drive
but his angel's wings forgot to fly
that left him all but mostly alive
so I stared like every other crowd
at what our flawed fate has allowed
appalled and amazed at these ways
struggles give perspective beyond books
all this from those god damned hooks

– Jason Kichline

Confidence

in her there is no shame
held high as Confidence
a torch illuminating pride
proud to hide secret fears
held low and long for years
tears never come whence
they came, shrouded, denied
the same play time as always
deep red curls, tight and grown
gather strength upon her crown
curtains drawn on unseen drama
wiping salted drips those feelings
silly emotions "I am the Protector"
"I don't need my weakness revealed"
cover it up like Vengence the cat
and bury the rat in the flowerbed
death to the dying and to the dead
life to the lying in my head
as fragile and fractured as fat
not that, either, in case you say
bring on the day and even evening
I'm not afraid of the dark nor light
and rosy brown locks flow undressed
as sun beams and dreams aim to caress
pale skin
glad cheeks
broad strength
laugh at Challenge
Confidence always wins

Dedicated to Katie

– Jason Kichline

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Unsalted

flavorless lacks
fruit of the land
tasting the bland
packaged in sacks
a spoonful of sand
raised by a demand
her confidence cracks
she can't understand
why a strange man
reviews spice racks
holds her fair hand
folds hair by strand
draw curtains back
stirring unplanned
greatest command
to love the shame
to heal the lame
to salt the land
just because I can
just because I am

– Jason Kichline

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Bench

corners hug the curves
of thin grey asphalt
shallow gravel below curbs
and rattled weighted steel
polished and worn slots
washed of patience
and the sidewalk rests
river ice cracked flowing
sideways flags of death
not quite smooth to
walkers and scooters
welcoming as the grave
velcro grey nylon flat
against the hard marble
this rubber sole glued
to thick podiatric foam
white socks unbleached
dimmed blends unsorted
pants too short
pleats too pressed
forming church bells
tolling for whom?
brown as moist ground
taut against fragility
thin skin wrinkled
buttocks weighed against
two by four wood flaking
paint sharp and splintered
old as cold hands shaking
folded on knees nervous
awaiting fate as oak trees
but fate isn't the right term
luck would be more firm
maybe hope is spot on
as stains on a dress shirt
the perfect one from then
for outside he wastes away
like cinders down the drain
but inside his heart leaps
love is a pacemaker of pain
bringing strength to joints
waters to the drought wells
touch to forgotten fingers
a calculator watch clings
to soft veins of a wrist
twisted to see the time
three colon twenty eight
blinking dots strobe slow
time stands still from the
vortex of doom looming
bright as an equinox
cataract glares sunbeams
appearing floating as grace
her face is wonderful
boards bend underneath
a feminine sigh of calm
skin chiseled from life and
hair refined by ancient airs
mind torn in pages of time
her hand grazes mine
old blood new again
bold chills prick grey
youth drips from founts
unseen
unknown
undiscovered
unlocked hearts swing open
to secrets of histories apart
eyes of vision not clear now
see clearly into one another
time too short to argue
time to long for more
jealousy no longer
forgiveness always
so many faults to forget
so much baggage to drop
so few reasons to regret
so little moments to stop
toeless tight shoes in
white labor day slip into
thick nude nylons touching
the velcro grey
the off white fray
the brown trousers
ring above the ground
lifting souls from eulogy
soaring as eagles wings
and a life still lived
not a death walked on
pass us by for a little while
because heaven is right here
beside me
on this bench

– Jason Kichline

Selah

pause.

heart pacing.
pulse taut.
mind racing.
no thought.
vision blurred.
the future fogs.
soul murmured.
fixing clogs.

what to I do when nothing is wrong and yet everything doesn't seem right or right or make a lick of sense because there is too much to do and no time to do it and I consume everyone's life and more midnight snacks and yet I always forget the most important things in life by focusing on all the flashy things until I lose my mind and life?

breathe.
selah.
rest.

– Jason Kichline

Monday, August 3, 2009

Jealous

a frustration
exposed as a
(grunt)
stress tested breath
eyes red with anger
and fear laid tears
it's been going on
for how long?
months?
years?
flashes of pain
marks the stain
red and blue as bruises
spockled edge and
raised rimmed rings
the trees of this forest
that we cannot escape
like Hansel and Gretel
fattened with ourselves
between ourselves
within ourselves
how selfish
there is no lady
no common evil
to eat us like candy
and my needs
become your hurts
I take love where
I can get it
and you
you don't understand
learning to share
is a hard lesson
evidently
(sigh)
temporary relief of
permanent problems
I'm more than the toy
in your tidy toybox
or the train you love
that introduced hate
to your toddler friends
we kicked your ass
right out of Eden
it's righteously yours?
a body not even mine?
back payments of a loan
on what you don't own
payback's a mad dog
(bark)

– Jason Kichline

Trap

there's a bounty on my head
gold not desired to be paid
like a Joseph in an old film
in a technicolor overcoat
in the heat of prosperity
desert sun
distant mirage
opportunity lost
chasing the smell
of fresh grilled Allure
is it my fault?
being father's favorite?
trustingly, I
trust too much
did you know...
that the word "gullible"
isn't in the dictionary?
REALLY?
come, give us a hug, bro
bullshit.
or was that goat?
where are your flocks?
damn, this coat is hot!
cisterns are cool in heat
desert palm spring gone
fooled by fair work
lured by foul play
that poor goat
headless blood
spilt sacrifice
spare me
sell me
dead.
I'll be back...
that's how I roll
with the punches
hasta la vista baby
how's it feel to bow bitches?

– Jason Kichline

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Untamed

it hasn't been that long
   and yet
      I feel away
the feelings are still strong
   and they follow me
      as the day
like a puppy dog chasing
   nipping at my
      raw bare heels
eased emotions, embracing
   ripping a sigh
      a soul feels
separated from it's mate
   muffled cries
      echos in falls
though once willing to wait
   behind eyes
      and quiet lulls
I'm not naive to think
   a rose wet
      by rain and sun
unfurls silken petals pink
   passions whetted
      in nature begun
unstoppable budding of life
   cycles on
      inconvenient
heart beating still, rife
   as rosy dawn
      disrobes transient
reveals her bare thin sky
   roused breasts
      moistened dew
appeals not to ask why
   my interest crests
      rejoiced in you
so nature and not thought
   wells within
      in feelings dwelt
my heart remains uncaught
   untamed sin
      in dealings felt

– Jason Kichline

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Serenade

full forest
forest floor
floundering
half awake
fully aware
found her ring
moist earth
clinging roots
grasping hold
with pale hands
fingers flailed
flicking limp
knuckles bent
a simple band
nails chipped
dirt caked
quiet
birds
sticks break
trees bend
and creak
an orchestra
a serenade
of sleep
of death

– Jason Kichline

Boo Boo

it really hurts now
who knew such a little thing
now swollen and throbbing
in purple, taught skin, puss
gathering near impact
realizing with each jolt
how much I use that finger
perhaps I should have gone sooner
I waited
she looked
sucking breath between teeth
a slithery reaction to seen pain
shouldn't a doctor not be shocked?
maybe it was her maternal sympathy
a prescription scribble promptly
directions directed sternly
in a thick Indian accent
she's getting better though
English is an art, after all
she touches the tip
she feels my pulse
she breaths in sharp
between clenched teeth
calling in a cart named Surgery
a table for two with a tablecloth
three if you include our guest
with alcohol and needle she talks
inviting Pain to stay and rest
for a while with us
stabbing and pressing
closed eyes and sweating
not much pressure released
just packaged back up in
jellied balm and band-aid
and a "call me" if it gets worse
and a "call me" if it's not better
by Monday at the most
I sure hope it is
by then

– Jason Kichline