http://billalton.com Poetry Sun, 25 Oct 2009 06:43:27 +0000 http://backend.userland.com/rss092 en Speakers throw music through the room. Dancers slam. One corner holds the beer. Bad beer but it’s free. People hold their beers like mothers in a flood. Someone laughs, a splash of ugly. A girl who’s not really a girl asks my name. They call her Scarecrow. She smells of pot. ... http://billalton.com/?p=29 Vodka, gin, whiskey and tequila. Vodka’s my favorite. Eggs and vodka are a bad breakfast. I can see the tip of my nose. Things split, jump and slither. School’s hard. I sleep and I smoke in the bathroom. The principal calls me down. Mom’s there, thin and white. No school ... http://billalton.com/?p=28 Voices whisper at me. They’ve been coming for a while. I don’t know when they started. One day it’s quiet. But then I have company. Like a fat man at dinner. Uninvited. My voices don’t like me. You’re going to die, they say. I didn’t used to believe them. Now, I don’t ... http://billalton.com/?p=27 I’m sleeping, only I’m not sleeping. I close my eyes and count the hairs on my arms. It’s hard. Shift and the hairs move around and I start over. One hundred. Dad’s home. Mom’s locked the doors with new locks. Glass breaks. Now he’s cussing and kicking dents in the garbage cans. ... http://billalton.com/?p=24 Dust and heat in a white sky. I’m young. Barefoot. Shirtless. Next door, an empty house. Yellow grass and packed dirt. A stone chimney leans into one side. No one sees the rock come loose until it’s too late. It lands square on my head. I can’t see right. My ... http://billalton.com/?p=23 She’s naked and holds out her hand. My dad’s in his chair. He pushes her. She falls, legs wide, pubic hair dark and heavy. Her breasts hang from her ribs, nipples like chocolate. She smashes his face. He takes the coffee table to her, brings it down on her shoulders. Again ... http://billalton.com/?p=22 My folks’ closet is crazy with coats and clothes hung like lonely hides waiting for someone to pull them on again. Secrets sit in the corners, up on the shelves. My dad’s old uniform is huge. The sleeves drop over my hands. The weight of it makes me important. The ... http://billalton.com/?p=21 Mom sits in her kitchen with her cigarettes and her coffee and her book. It is her day off and she has nothing to do, so she sits in her kitchen, quietly. Everything smells of dust and the tar the asphalt spits up into the heat. Shirtless kids poke at it ... http://billalton.com/?p=19 I have no shoes. There are no words for my mouth. There are no words to make things not happen. My dad’s knuckles are little stones. Blood tastes like blood. Pain is not bright. Mom says, You’re not doing this. Today Mom’s strong. Today she’s fierce. The first shot takes me in the eyes. ... http://billalton.com/?p=18 The living room is dark and warm. The music is soft, bluesy music the color of cigar smoke. They dance with their hips. Her tits come out. Her head is on his bald spot. All night, I watch their secrets. Their secrets fill me up. http://billalton.com/?p=14