At night
I hear these ranks
Of the newly
Broken men
Who’ve seen their worlds
Come crashing
By request
Of a special girl

Watching cars
Speed fast
With headlights
Harshly gleaming
Through darkness
From my windows
Causing accidents
Not so far

That screech
Of halted wheels
And bang
From mangled metals
Which reveal
Such tragic endings
For vehicles
Driven mad

Like quick
And suited ends
As fate
Of skidding rubber
Enticed
By dangerous beauties
That rev
Such engines hard

Since fear
Of instant death
Deters
No smitten dreamer
Reliant on
Those passions
As fuel for
Choices bold

Reckless
Young and weak
Susceptible
To these feelings
With adrenaline
Spiking quickly
Each time her kiss
Succeeds

At inspiring
Pedals held
Too long for
Hope or safety
Before his time
Expires
Behind this wheel
She turns

And one big
Ugly mess
Becomes that wreck
Expected
For guys like us
Who listen
But know all motors
Fail.

– J. Pigno

Excuse these
Damaged goods
For being
So transparent
In the offhand sense
I’m willing
To share this
Open book

If it means
I’d soon believe
What persons
Stay too modest
When trading
Friendly stories
Like strangers
Missing souls

Figments
Barely fixed
On account of
Lifelike faces
Mistaking truth
With reticence
As they argue
Cracks can heal

While evidence
Sorely bleeds
From the wounds
Of mouths unspoken
Where hurt
Is silent entries
In diaries
Lacking voice,

That speech
Of willing chains
Which keep their hurt
Still fastened
And tethered down
Exclusive
As if shameful
Of their pasts

Sewn
From thickest braids
Between lips
Remiss with bondage
To force
That awkward smile
On threads
Across each flap

Ribbons
Tied real loose
So the chance
Appears elsuive
But possible
If they’re aiming
To pray
Through wordless stares –

How I never
Envy pride
For its lack
Of bearing witness
As the pitfalls
Of such clarity
Intend
I must confess.

– J. Pigno

This old body
Treats me rough
For the fact
I have abused it

From running low
On answers
To pursue
What fuel sustains

Existence hardly fit
For the mind
Which questions
Gimmicks

Like love
Or having children
As keeping score
Of life –

Things
I can’t believe
Are claims
Of righteous addicts

Accepting drugs
Called limits
Inside
These boring dreams

With pain
Admitting death
No matter
Of such causes

Trusting
Mortal judgement
More than
Reason should,

Where God
Decides each fate
Though days
Are still determined

By accidents
Thought suggested
In the tragedies
Of our choice.

Years
Not ours to win
But times
Intent on losing

Whatever hope
We muster
From the touch
Of passing hands,

Unlike
How I fight
This instinct
To seek feelings

And long for
Warmth so basic
Between arms
Of another girl –

Letting go
Of needs
I learned
Are undeserving

By words
Which come so natural
That I easily
Fall apart,

Rejecting
Food and faith
Family
And my future

Embracing
Bloody phrases
Torn from
Open wounds.

– J. Pigno

No need
For fancy words
Just the pause
From raw emotion

Which comes when
Simply feeling
This world
As God intends

With rough
But honest joy
Of experience
In our being

Frail
As passing evening
Towards morning light
Which comes –

Each day
Within itself
As time
Surrenders moments

To their quick
And sudden passage
Like blood
Throughout our veins

Maintaining
Steady beats
As we hit that drum
Within us

Whose rhythm
Is often dancing
To the pulse
Of thirsty souls

Drinking
Rays of sun
As we wake once more
Impassioned

For the gift
Of living mirrors
Through art
Of heaven’s choice,

This soil
Our dirty brush
New skies
An open canvas

Fresh air
A different calling
Of scents
From new dawn’s birth

And richness
Daily ink
By action
Of these stories

From treasures
Once decided
As the plot
Such choices make

Finding worth
On high
Near the point
Of lowest entry

Like pages
Long forgotten
Beneath piles
Of missing work.

Our mind
Is best creating
What dreams
Are mere reflections

Of the faces
All so different
With roles
In one big book.

– J. Pigno

Attrition
Is natural entropy
And agony
Lacking forgiveness
For the sake
Of prepared excuses
When appearing sincere
Before God

Highlighting
Truths of our lies
Throughout this plight
Of conviction
Rendered weak
From believing
Such easiness
Failure sustains –

What diminishes hearts
As we chain
Or chase these means
Across shackles
Like romance
Shunned by decision
Where lovers are sins
That we claim.

No, I am barely
Obsessed
With developing hurt
As it festers
Beyond this reach
Of redemption
Which betrays my soul
Though I fall

Farther
Into relief
While avoiding blood
Without penance
At the source
Of inspired angers
Reddened by hope
Gone unfound –

Scapegoats
Biding my days
Counting scars
Towards forever
Amassing guilt
Nearly flawless
So the hemorrhage inside
Doesn’t stop.

– J. Pigno

No great
Star-crossed love
In this sea of
Forever what-ifs
Just the changing
Tune of indifference
Set to a lonely
Dissonant jazz

Where daydreams
Call my bluff
And soften blows
With wishes
I cling to
While I’m crashing
When pillows
Grow their arms

Like fictions
Kept intact
For survival
Of this heartbeat
Which longs to seek
Its rhythms
In sync
Beneath these sheets

By gifts
Of restful sleep
As the hands
Of sweetest poisons
Pour syrups
Swallowed weakly
From the spoons
Of angels real

Tonics
Dry and flat
With a hint
Of aging flavors
Purported
To be medicine
For the souls who drink
No wine

Bitter
As staunch belief
Uncorked
From bottles waiting
Among stones
And cobwebs nestled
Within barrels
Built of fear

Cellars
Cold yet damp
Mindscapes
Missing sunlight
And tragedy
Through this silence
Of my bedroom
Dark and dull

How direction
Has no chance
For its line
To be distinguished
Like notes
Of vying players
In a band
Without one voice.

– J. Pigno

My father
Says
All poetry
Is pretty
But makes
No dough.

I think
That’s just
The point –

Cash
Is an ugly
Thing.

– J. Pigno

Things
Might be
Alright

But no
They’re never
Quite easy,

For I’d learn
This now
Before winning

Because failing
Isn’t always
A chore –

Sometimes
It’s what
We need

To value
That gift
Of each moment

Where triumph
Is often
Reclusive

Behind
Such cover
Of clouds.

Even when
Losing
Our faith

Just to witness
Skies
Being opened

Like curtains
Of doubt
Falling gently

With answers
In rain
Coming through.

So follow
Your heart
As a guide

And remember
To censor
That critic –

Our mind
Comes second
To passion

And the world
Even further
Than doubt.

– J. Pigno

I’ve got
One lousy hand
To pen this
Fearless sentence
From the mouth
Of broken answers
Which runs
Right through
My soul

Jumping
Through these hoops
Like dogs
Of trained expression
While words
Which spell disaster
Seek shelter
From its
Grip –

How synonyms
Leave their mark
As basic scars
Of changing
What incorrect
Nouns of circumstance
Manage
To take their
Risk

Making things
Just right
And never far
From framing
Identity
Within format
Of pageantry
Born
Of schools

Not a message
Best conveyed
By a reject
Made exclusive
By profession
Of his devices
Which wither
Away
At bones

Whittling
Tiny shapes
Drawn like bars
In margins
So the verbs that chase
Each spirit
Break free
From chains
At last

While sacrifice
Often begins
As it stifles
Flow of lefties
Or “queers”
Who write
Indignant
On opposite sides
Of the page

Praying
Change admits
How deviance
Ushers acceptance
Even when
Slight variation
Brings subtle
But certain
Shifts

Through experience
Some admit
Or confess
How wisdom
Is garnered
By enduring
Excess abuses
Of adversity
Claiming its stake

Discovering
Harsher names
Each time their mind
Progresses
Toward limits
Once thought dangerous
To leaders
Who think
Inside lines

Bizarre
Yet quite unfit
For the world
To deem
Outstanding
As a notion
Hung for daring
What questions
Perfect script.

– J. Pigno