knifed

sitting on your bed
watching you dress

the sound of rain around us
falling heavy, a premonition

you turn your head sideways,
slowly they emerge

those knives,
four long stripes 

whose fingernails 
raked your skin?

why haven't they
gone all the way in?

dug deep into throat, 
ripped out jugular?

let you bleed, die,
spare me this sight?

she has you
by the throat 

you have me
by the heart

black dog blues

this is not a poem
this is a rant

this is a rant
about the black dog
the black dog that 
drags me down
into the mud

this damn dog
has me in a death grip
jaws locked tight
neither of us knows 
how to let go

on some days 
I can dance 
on the surface
of this mud that
must own me

and on some days
I can somehow 
stay on top
even when the ground
keeps giving way

on some days, the light, 
struggling, 
breaks in
when the fog won't lift 
or darkness ease

but most days,
most days,
are suffocating
in this sludge

this damn dog 
drags me down

the best cigarette

the one I steal
from your hand
still damp from a shower
wet from your mouth
and your fingers

the best cigarette

the last one 
before I leave
as we try to pack
all of us
into those last minutes

the best cigarette

fills this space
in my chest
when you are gone
I need to touch you
to know you are here

the best cigarette

one final drag
to see me through
it looks like us and
tastes like you