damned chapel

damned chapel

the facility chapel 
is a mousetrap 
giant bible bait 
on a 
fat 
bone of the earth 
pedestal 
rising 

Jesus 
the consummate actor 
staring 
from the confines 
of a cheap frame 

crushed crackers 
bread crumbs 
yellowed paper 
mixing with 
the corpses of 
spiders 

empty walls 
the color of phosphorescent 
overhead 
lights 

suck up 
the last 
humanity 

paper snowflakes 
on a fake Christmas tree 
stand in 
for winter 

the courtyard 
is empty 

it takes a whole lot 

Written by Mike Linaweaver
Posted on 03-20-13

noir

noir

this is capitalism 
and she knows it 

the world ends 
on the stage 
at her feet 

she spins around 
an entomologist’s pin 
the levers of doom knuckle back 

black lights 
a DJ 

at the bar 
Mary has a fan club 

she steps down 
like genocide 

she goes liquid 

you married 
buy me a drink 
she says 
you from here 

she is murder 

I 
cant 
look 

you’re rude 
anyone ever tell you that 

only you 
I say clouds in the alleys 
I can see the future 

she is simple 
with simple moods 

she leaves with me 
on high heals leaning 
into the mass 
of civil failures 
the murder of God 
pooling in the corners 

we leave together 
pretending again 
to be you 
anywhere but here 

then its just a room 
the carpet even matches 
the floor in the bathroom 

her hair is night 

after 
want to talk 

she says no 

because you will hear 
but not listen 

I know she is right 

so 
she smokes 
clouds again 
little silk funerals 
she shapes them into 
O’s 

where will we go 

going nowhere 
nowhere to go 

nothing left of us 
until tomorrow

Written by Mike Linaweaver
Posted on 03-16-13

one night

one night

bitter moon 
 and helpless 
cartography of 
howling dogs 

cast them out to sea 

night 
birds 
warbling 

to remain 
is of 
star’s death 

dreams 
once more

Written by Mike Linaweaver
Posted on 03-11-13

bar girl

bar girl

she 
is 
black jazz 
sitting on a 
bar stool 

the 
mad 
cursive 
of 
shape 

her 
legs 
crossed 

willing 
time 
to 
stop 

centering 
herself 
on the 
horizon 

this 
humble 
creator

Written by Mike Linaweaver
Posted on 03-11-13

I know its Spring

I know its Spring 
because 
there is a cricket 
outside 
that won’t stop 
saying terrible 
things 

coyotes 
at the edge of town 
the lights 
of 
the factories… 
and… 
                …refineries 
late 
on a 
Sunday 

the long fingered 
river 
shedding its skin 
against the bark 
of pale emeralds 
and 
dead 
cottonwoods 

we fall 
as nomads 
among you 

a splendored 
dystopia 


we children of capital 
slouching into doom 
carrying 
the illuminated carapaces 
of our simple beauty 
in this landscape 
of subtraction

Written by Mike Linaweaver
Posted 02-16-13

death in love

"death in love" --a little Vday nugget.

make war 
on you
*
crumple your brittle
flesh to
rose petals
*
whisper light
into
the wild sea
of your hair
*
trace the line
of your neck
to know
where
*
list gently
with the tides
of the wide
blue diamonds
in you
*
living
in these
vapid bones
*
murdered down
the paths
of every day
*
sinners
come one
to this chapel
*

come all
to the shadows
of great oaks
*
measure
your
madness
*
against us
cut the
sharp edges
*
milkweed
sunscape
sky
*
the
impossibility
of you

Written by Mike Linaweaver
Posted on 02-14-13

At The End Of A Revolution

At The End Of A Revolution

you are a silent line
in a
peasant dress

got your class roots
down

a daisy
in your
widowed
fingers 

---

reaching
for the book
of poetry
I found
behind
the headboard

the lung collapsing

an ending

I’ve walked
a million miles
to find you
here

Written by Mike Linaweaver

Posted on 12-03-12