2.

She was beautiful,
amazing, and perfect.
It was like the first time
when her pupils expanded,
black swallowing her iris,
and her throat groaned
a silent scream
right before she breathed
her very last breath -
which was much like her first,
a screaming tear soaked gasp -
then I became her world,
her life, her death,
her God.
She died like a fallen angel
beautifully aphotic
in her plunge
into eternity. 

1.

Her teeth scrape against my neck
with short jerky convulsions
of two stranger’s passion
shared in the dingy white sheets
of a motel room
on the shit side of town.

The window is painted red
and then blue
and then red again
     sirens screaming
     she’s screaming
and I wonder if she would
scream with the same intensity
if I was sliding a knife
into the soft flesh of her neck.
Would her moans of pain
sound like the whimpers of pleasure?
I imagined her eyes rolling into her skull
as her hands jerked at her neck
gasping for air
that I have stolen from her.

I finished with that thought
and wiped the thought onto the bed sheets.

The Tide

She inhaled an ocean full of salt
letting it scratch her esophagus
as it crawled into her lungs,
waving her hands frantically
as I watched the soft blue
begin to swallow her.

I thought about diving in
swimming against the current
and grabbing her hand.

But she looks so beautiful
when she dies with a hope
of being rescued.

Medium

She spoke to the dead
like they were lovers,
sitting around a table
touching palms of strangers
letting her fingers
understand the cracks
in their skin
as her voice called out
to a ghost, a spirit,
a loved one who left
too early
as they so often will.

Her eyes shift
towards her skull
as lips twitch
words from the other side
of where we sit. 
A conversation sliding
through the barrier
between life
and somewhere else
entirely.

My Dirty Truth

I am not Jack Mooney.  It’s a name I created, a pseudonym, an alter ego.  I created him with my hand and my pen, strung the fibers of his being together with strokes of ink, and connected his nerve endings with words.  I am not Jack Mooney, but Jack Mooney is me.  He is the end results of shoving dark thoughts into the closet of my mind, he is the closet.  Still, he’s not very dark, I believe he is growing.  Slowly learning how to hold the pen in his hands and release everything.  Or maybe I’m just not that dark.  I am not Jack Mooney, but these are his writings.  I separate them from myself so I won’t alarm my loved ones with thoughts of death and dying.  

Conception

My father should have been cautious
with my mother’s love;
always being gentle with her lips
and nervous with her thighs.

He should have sank into the kisses
for a little longer
and left her clothes
hanging limp on her wired shoulders.

My father could have avoided
the accident that was my birth
but he didn’t understand the patience
of teenage love

or how a condom worked.

Nonsense

I am he,
The one you thought you knew
Before he (or I)
took those pills

And lost my mind
Becoming you
who I never knew.

But you thought you knew me,
Because you were me
When I was taking the pills
Prescribed by the doctor
So I could know more about you
And less about me.


Because you already knew me
Or thought you did
But i swallowed myself
in the form of that pill
And became you for a moment
Until I realized I was me
And took the rest of those pills
(Ninety nine enough to kill)
to kill you 
And to kill myself.

You didn’t think I could
You thought you knew me
But you aren’t me

Those Damn Cigarettes

My wife sits at the table
coffee mug in hand, staring
out the window, while flipping  
through a news paper muttering
something about dead men 
and knowing them so well.

I watch her,
I watch the smoke running
away from my cigarette
and I think that one day
I will be that picture in the paper,
I will be those words -
about three hundred of them -
trying to capture my life
in one skinny column.

And she will probably sit
with her coffee cup
with her window
muttering something about
those damn cigarettes. 

After Armageddon

We walk through the waste of ourselves
that has washed into the streets
along with the mud and the deceased.
Bodies are littering the sidewalks,
we are too weak to bury our dead
and accustomed to the smell of decay,
the stench no longer bothers us.
So we step over the corpse
of someone we knew in a past life
(maybe a neighbor or a classmate
before the bomb hit
and deteriorated the life we’d built)
and we watch with yellow eyes
for any kind of movement on the horizon,
anything to keep us hoping
for a rescue.