Issac

He offers his giant leathered hand to you.
Soaked in Gin.
This hand once guided you across the street safely.
Now this hand will lead you through the ruby red flames and deep into the blue core of damnation.
Lava forms
It stains everything you touch. It fills your lungs and barely bubbles when you breathe.
Ashes are the past. Stitched tight are the beady teddy eyes.
Fire engine, ambulance lights and bloody cuffs.


In Canada or in Kansas the farmlands are spinning.
The dizziness makes you clutch cats tails and barbiturates.
Wheat sways, your heart fails.
Truth turns days into seconds and years into minutes.
Your stride covers a long distance but it takes you no where.
Not backwards in the future nor forwards in the past.

A multitude of hands reach reach reach out to tear you
violate you
caress you
grab you
rub you
slap you
drag you back
push you forward
force you up
They let you step on them.
Crush their knuckles
Lick their tips
slice their veins
drink their juice.

Gaze into me.
Your eyes are swollen with the pink tinge of everything you never did. All you did not want and protested to never need.
A blanket of leaves decompose on the grave of the man who took care of men.
He contaminates your soul.
Red roses to bloody drippings
Splattered on the walls
petals on the sheets
drops on his coat
lipstick on her lips.

Her red red red succulent tempting sleeping lips.
Scent of vanilla, grease and death.
Saint and criminal,
Judge and Jury,
You and me.

Poem By Me. Inspired by both life and Cohen.