A Lock On The Door

What was it
That you wore?
Underneath the altar
And your stockings
On the floor,
This sunken grateful cynic
Anticipates the air.
That's all we ever hoped
To have between
Our barren, wondering souls.
Now more
And more will cover us,
Spreading a thickness
Distance longs for.

We have what we need
For the dreams that will come.
A lighter, a glass,
And a lock on the door.

The Wrong Cure

Dress me down
Bear me down,
Down this arterial mine
That the hammer
Pounds and pulls
When stressed,
Inside our lover's
Empty chest.

One wonders,
But gravely
In blue gill chambers,
Not quite able
To break in the door.

The other,
Spent sewage
With a hint of sweet sadness,
Will make no haste
In towing the line,
Burying ticket stubs
In flesh along the way.