Not Enough Bullets

Knife-cold bones, refrigerator white

skeleton gets out of the car

saunters toward me

the fog of tar black thoughts

spilling from his skull

moonlight through a broken window

squeezes narrow his little stray-dog eyes

and says to me

Nothingness is symmetrical, man

but I’m not convinced

so he jitters a jagged-bone jig

to prove he’s dead

and seen the other side

wherein he knows of what he speaks

and through a bolt of black bone holes

indented in a saw toothed smile

adds, Know what I mean?

But I don’t

so he says

One part’s exactly the same as any other

and I wonder why he’s telling me this

because the dead don’t often speak to me

except once before

when from our fever-twisted sheets

you looked up  

and said I know you wish I were dead you bastard

but even if you wanted to

you couldn’t kill me because I am already

thanks to you

and no matter how much you want to

you can’t kill me twice you bastard.

Not enough bullets.

Appeared in Third Wednesday, 2012