Saturday, December 22, 2018

Moon tears

the widowed moon
revealed herself
through her
melancholic
veil of fog
her frozen
tears floated
in the air
to kiss
the cheeks
of oblivious
passengers
in the night
those kisses
the only
offering of comfort
she could afford
as the world
passed the
threshold of
autumn



Saturday, December 1, 2018

Obit

sainthood is
like history
only agreed upon
by liars
love is like
blood
the river that
flows out of the heart
anyone can die
and everyone does
but anyone can
fuck up
so don't act like
everyone doesn't
just because
they die




Monday, November 26, 2018


Requiem

on a throne
of bones
she waits
her beheaded
love leans
in her lap
trickling down
her stone legs
faded petals
of her glory days
the bitter wind
licking her feet
and tossing
those old glories
out into the street
her abandoned
children wander
beyond the
wilderness of words
to be their own
ball and chains
for what all
the blood was shed
can no longer
be said
the words have
been trodden
into the mud
and her tears
tear the skies
from their
somber gray
into darkened night
away from sanity
away from her
heart of liberty
away from
her radiant light




Friday, November 16, 2018

Religion

I wake up
I piss and shower
and dress
I let the dogs out
I pack a lunch
and I eat
I drive
I check the blind spot
in traffic and
pull a muscle
I work and play
and try not to mix
the two, unsuccessfully
I clean and 
pull a muscle
I turn on the TV
I watch and learn
what life is not
I stand up
and pull a muscle
I eat and eat
and eat, probably some more
I write what won't
be read
I then paint instead
I cook, then clean
some more
and pull a muscle
I put my barefoot
on the bare ground
I complain about hating
I love to complain
and I live to love
I lay down with
my husband
We pray then kiss
I pet our dogs
I watch TV
knowing what life is not
I fall asleep, eventually



Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Face space

faces spilled out
on counter tops
from glasses too
full of liquids
or clumsy hands
faces pool in
the liquid lineage
held by distance
on that expanse
they unfurl in
wrinkled napkins
or paper towels
gazing upon the
world before them
this recognition
in an unrealized
divination



Tuesday, November 6, 2018

The fluff dreams are made of

my dreams choose
caskets as places
to lay their heads
and slumber soundly
leaving me in the night
I wonder what they
are dreaming of
when they've left me
out in the cold night
do they take flight
as I enjoy so much to do
deep in REM
do they fall off
giant cliffs only
to be suddenly shaken
awake with racing hearts
do they try to run
only to find the more
they try the less they can
or maybe they don't at all
dream that is
when they slumber
leaving me in the night
to row my boat
down a stream
as we were taught
for life is but a dream



Sunday, November 4, 2018

The thin line

we'll climb
the thin line
of smoke
that rises
from out
of the waves
it will lead
us into the
starry dark
where distance
has forgotten
both speed
and distance
so we can
peer into
the past

we'll climb
the thin line
of smoke
that rises
from out
of the waters
which have
given us this
chance to find
ourselves and
each other
when we
have collided
with the matter
in hands
that have held us
beaten us
and led us
to ourselves and
each other

we'll climb
the thin line
of smoke
that rises
from our
burning bodies
the fires
that have
quenched
the ocean's
salty thirst
our blood
that has
dowsed the
warring flames
within stampeding
hearts and souls




Monday, October 22, 2018

Magissa

she walks columned lands
listening to the brittle fingers
of her friends snap and break
under the weight of her feet

the cold touches not her skin
as it has already embraced
the faint beating of her heart

her hair is a continuous current
with the bitter breezes of night
when she lifts from the earth
to soar through the dark air

the cold touches not her face
as it has already taken hold of
the faint memories of her mind

they come to her for help
when their prayers are empty
they bar her with iron chains
when their guilt is thirsty

the flame touches not her bones
as she is a stream in the woods
the tears from an infant's eye



- for Dixie

Sunday, October 21, 2018

The chest

these things were taken
by unseen hands
they always mention
what was given up
an offering
the sacrifice
but these things
were taken
and they'll never
be again
the memory of
sound sleeping
and sane thinking
and being pleased
by being at ease
no more
someone has
slammed shut
that door
as all reasoning
has flowed away
all peace sits in rot
logic in ruin and decay
images can't be unseen
knowledge is always known
and what is kept locked
in the chest in the room
at the end of the hall
up the stairs of the house
at the end of the road
no one travels any longer
should have always
stayed locked in the chest
in the room in the house
at the end of the road
no one travels any longer







Monday, October 15, 2018

Sean

silence was a
companion he sought
and the constant
conversation he found
in the quiet pacified
the biting storm
that raged in his mind
Sean hated his voice
finding the words
he found regretful
at best and his speech
was a journey down
a root laced pebble
strewn crooked path

the winged imp on
his left shoulder
whispered into
people's ears
convincing them
Sean held himself
higher than them
in his silent state
while the feathered
fiend on his right
whispered into
Sean's own ear
convincing him
he had nothing
worth to say

but Sean soon
started speaking
more and more to
his silent friend
and did his very
own convincing
leaving the two
whispering devils
to starve without him
while he drifted
away so deathly quiet



Thursday, October 4, 2018

First frost

the bricks still emit
the scorch of summer sun
in their burnt hue
embers of bonfires
the same that still
burn in the night sky
licking and savoring the dark
the same dark
that creeps into these hours
when solar rays drown
in the distant earthly horizon
surrendering to the cold
the same cold
that creeps into the bones
of withered elder trees
and silken youthful blooms
that linger until the bitter kiss
the same kiss
that stills the pulse
silents the arias in the air
and blackens and grays
these autumn days




Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Demon wings

the remains of the rain
reflect the somber eve
after a day of gray
my face ebbs in ripples
as filtered light ponders
the expression on my face
I am only halfway here
I am merely halfway there
as liquid draws the line
and darkness draws the soul
I've hungered for the light
to lead me off into the night
but it keeps me lingering
in the shallow dull twilight
the dark can take my soul
into the depths of its cave
but it feeds me just enough
to save me from the grave
the puddles mimic pain
a numbing bitter pill
the loss of demon wings
no halo beyond the veil




Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Return ticket

it was something booked
long ago
probably with the first breath
in his lungs
which is why it's difficult now
to let go
because it was forgotten about
after all this time
but reminders come back up
to flag us down
and let us know when
it's time to let go
when breaths become less
and hearts grow too big
and bones are too full of life
and looks are now somber
when they weren't
only a week or two ago
during that time
when we had forgotten
when we didn't know
that life is booked with
a return ticket
and departure can be
so much sooner
than we know



Saturday, September 8, 2018

Affliction

these halls stall me
it's difficult to pass
as my words should be
my steps
but the words
are pigeons
flying away
from this pedestrian
and I see them
settle and coo
further down the corridor
but if I approach them
I lose them
as they take flight
once again



Thursday, September 6, 2018

Melting suns

on the aching
worn branches
where gold finches still dance
to pluck a seed or two
and monarchs sail pass
swallowtails filling their coffers
with rich nectar drink
melts faces of the sun
in all their dripping glory
whether they are worn wax
receding from the flame
so ravenous for a wick
or better the oils slathered
on clowns that have had their day
the colors do run as Hades
pulls the fair colors of Persephone
down into his dark empty pits






Sunday, September 2, 2018

Word

the writer becomes
the words written
the page the writer's flesh
the ink the writer's blood
the quill the writer's life
that pierces the flesh
and draws the blood
across the blank plain
of the writer's existence
the narrative the writer's mind
exposed from the depths
each novel a mere chapter
each poetic verse a mere breath
exposed from the depths
that long for light
that beg for the writer to write



Saturday, August 25, 2018

Ashen words

incinerated words
fell upon the grass blades
as hopeless Roman soldiers
falling upon their swords
the refuse of speech
was the color of the sky
in the cold morning dew
the curtains still pulled
the veil still thick
for any parting rays of dawn
it was still the crickets
to serenade the ticking clock
as cicadas yet slumbered
the written word bellowed
forth from the belly of flame
the heat licked and savored
each and every letter and line
and the release blanketed
the grass swimming in dew
fragile fragments laid
unwavering in the stillness
of the growing light
remnants of lovely lips
kissed farewell the night

Monday, August 13, 2018

Datura candelabras


faded petal hue
drips in the gloaming
as datura lights
its white candelabra
for sweet serenade
in lunar basking
sweet nectar sipping
the humble moth's tasking
a laudanum laden cup
offered freely
to ready prisoners
of nocturnal sight
briskly through chilling eve
into the dark eternal night
lacy wings from silky skirts
ravenous fiends from
devilish desserts
pulses skip under
moon laced dreams
who knocks upon the chest
in this tormenting rest
what pours from the cup
the moth savors and beholds
the blood of an ancient god
is what the moth unfolds
in whispers and breaths and awes
the dark softly sings
from datura candelabras




Saturday, August 11, 2018

Pacifica

his ashes are upon the sand
where waves lap
and leave behind
bodies from the deep
these summoned offerings
the waves lay at my feet
as the musty salty sweet
rises in the air
from currents crashing
on water worn stones
the soft sand under my feet
a gentle place for us to sleep
where ends are met
to both ocean and to land
where broken bodies
break upon the standing stones
and souls stir in the constant
current of ebbing eternity
and ashes drift out to sea






Tuesday, July 17, 2018

Jellyfish reflections

float in his eyes
as we lay mangled
in each others arms
our hearts are horses
that have passed 
the finish line
and their hooves
have slowed
our skin the grass
in morning sun
wet and warm
and drying
our breath is incense
offered to the god
we briefly met
just moments before
this moment
I watch jellyfish reflections 
float in his eyes




Sunday, July 8, 2018

Lily melody

the lilies lift aloft
in the morning light
an offering of their incense
to the almighty sky
the unfurling of their petals
are the opening of temple doors
as honey flows in rivers
in the slight breeze of the morn
and messengers of the gods
race to temple doors
to restore the divinity of the day
and take with them the offering
the lilies gladly give away
the golden dust heaped full
in their velvet satchel purse
and sweet libation drops
to satisfy the buzzing thirst
the petals pour into the air
a cloud of divine awakening
where lost are the poet's words
and the bard holds muted praise
lifted is the lily melody
in silent scented summer days





Wednesday, June 27, 2018

The silent fiend

some silent fiend
sits on the edge of the bed
to watch me slumber
its mere presence
adulterates the images
that parade across
the back of my eyelids
and it's content to
sprinkle me with 
the Sandman's sand
laced with its own flavor
a flavor to cause me
to battle my demons
with shards of porcelain
I shatter with my
fear and anger
these all too frequent
demons that dish out
a taste of hell
with their repetitive
torturous spell
they weave before my eyes
and my only sword
are my very words
to deliver me from this dark
"I will not" echoes in the room
as the fiend is vanquished
with first light



Rain and leaves

I'd rather listen
to the rain on the window
the drops have more
important things to say
than anything on TV
and their song
is sweeter on the glass
and in the humming
of the wind

I'd rather watch
the floating and
fleeting dance of leaves 
in Fall or bees in Spring
or even birds in love
than anything on TV
and their dance
is genuine and true
through skies both
gray and blue




Saturday, June 23, 2018

End of June

it was a setting sail
into a dry ocean
with a fiery course
through windy days
and still nights
dark nights filled
with screaming toads
and owls that longed
for the absent rain
even scavenging canines
yelled for it to return
it was a jumping off
into spicy evenings
when sagebrush sighed
at the end of the day
at the end of the heat
and sunflower musk
stirred in the cooling air
it was the time to
watch gourd vines
wind through the grass
much more slowly
than their serpentine kin
time to spot the devil's claw
holding its silky bloom
behind a cloud of
almost deadly perfume
it was the waiting
between storms rolling
in from the west
for lighting strikes
as threatening and
nerve shaking as
the strike of a rattler
in the tall bluestem
for the rain that
the nightly screams
summoned in the dark





Sunday, June 17, 2018


Sky shatter

yellowing of the day
will the sky
break away
to let the dark
seep in
indigo blues gray
in the withering eve
as empress hues
take their leave
then the sky shatters
leaving the gleaming
glass dust
scattered across
the silent abyss
and wonder slowly
turns in spacious spirals
until light seals up
the mystery
behind the blue veil




Monday, June 11, 2018

Lure of leaf

whispering of the green
softly in the breeze
a breath upon the cheek
turning the head with ease
the blades upon the grass
lay down their warring path
calls the maiden trees
softly in the breeze
their melodic siren song
fills the feathery throng
and slips down swaying salix strings
to fill the pool with rings
the music in the air
seems to come from over there
yet when there does become here
the music moves far from near
'tis a dancing deer
as it moves far from near
through the foxfire gloam
when fireflies dare to roam



Friday, June 8, 2018

The well

the well remains
a deep dim reflection
of the sky above
its eye watches
time drag through
the sky above
its wet pupil
waits for more 
moisture to leak
from the sky above
its only holy hope
for existence is
from the sky above
after buckets dip
deeper into the well
and it recedes further
into the cold abyss
and faces who peer
into the eye of the well
have come and gone
passing by to either
heaven or hell
the soulful eye
deep in the ground
still watches its lover
in the sky above



Hope

she draws her dreams
on the sidewalks
for people to tread upon
and the only ones
who gaze into
her imagination
splattered on the pavement
are the bowing sunflowers
at the end of August
the rains carry the pigments​
of her drawn out figments
into the gutters
making way for more



Coin spin

such a busy world
all because they
want what they
don't have already
is that the signal
blaring out from
the molten core
to go and get
there's always
something more
and the more
always has a price
for there is no free
in this blood soaked
earthly economy
just ask the bird
that ate the worm
that ate the leaf
that ate the earth
and the air and sun
the coin spins 
until it's spent



Wednesday, June 6, 2018

Vizzitor

a fly danced
on the letters
at my fingertips
its moves made
me pause my own
it seemed to
revel in the
oiled keys
as it did 
as it pleased
it came to rest
above the asterisk 
to bathe its wings
and its eyes
then flew off
suddenly
such the way
of flies



Thursday, May 31, 2018

Braindrops

a trickle 
from the ears
a sprinkle
from the nose
a light mist
from the eyes
as the storm
within brews
the turning 
twisted thoughts
funnel into 
a verbal downburst
and lays flat
all in the way
with the straight line
windy bellow
out the mouth
thus beware the signs
of braindrops






Wednesday, May 30, 2018

The bird

blackbird with his
robin blue smile
perched on the eave
of a house no
longer a home
his gluttonous grin
is the bow 
in the roof line
as the sky gleams
off the ocean depths
found in his feathers
his call 
the chill of night
dancing in his
malicious stare
as he writes ​out
his devious deeds
in the air with his beak




Monday, May 28, 2018

Ashen arms

you held me in
your bare arms
within gray skies
wet with vacant thoughts
and barren time
you held me
when there
was no more
need for tears
no longing
for lips to meet
no urge to
reach out
for touch
in pain or
in joy
as all the blood
had dried
all the air
had blown away
and vacancy
was our company




Monday, May 14, 2018

Dandies

let's wash our bodies
of this soot
that billows 
from our neighbor's fire
though we stand
confused and naked
in the growing grass
the spying sun
that filters through
the passing clouds
warms and dries us
she sips of you
and is tipsy too
when she tickles
with her velvet coat
I laugh and lose my cap
as it blows away in the wind




Sunday, April 29, 2018

Minutes after midnight

those prophetic patterns
run deep in his soul
they climb through
the ladders of his DNA
and knock on his heart
in the minutes after
midnight
they point out
the young woman
who draws her dreams
on the sidewalk
for passersby to
tread upon
they indicate
the man
who waits by
the intersection
swallowing his smoke
as it his constant, yet only
friend
they single out
the laughing children
who will never be born
under soot cloud skies
that bleed what man has
made by destroying
what God has made
they turn to
the days beyond
thirsty lips of problems
the gnashing teeth of need
to days of silence
to days of depth
deeper than the images
caught in brief moments
when walking past
store windows
to seconds spent
as decades before
a setting sun that
won't surrender
to a suicidal slap
that breaks the shell
to be delivered
from this living hell
to wake up in those
minutes after midnight



Thursday, April 19, 2018

Just the sip

sip of my cup
I have filled it for thee
please drown thine worries
upon thy bended knee

sip and sip again
from my shining chalice
surrender thine trembles
to my pleasure palace

quench your thirst
on my fountain for thee
I even have a cushion
for thy bended knee

come hither I plead
for thee to drink thine fill
lap up my sweet nectar
give in to my will

sip of my cup
it awaits your warm lips
please come and drink
before it spills or drips




Tuesday, April 17, 2018

April prayer

spare the salt shaker
oh lord
this spring has been
over seasoned
and your children
long to play in color
instead of sulk
in monochrome ice
we tire of the flake
we tire of the freeze
oh lord please
put down the salt shaker
let us see the reason
for this season
to bud, to bloom
to break free from sleep
and awake from wintry horror
to hear the little birds cheep
and the crickets squeak
spare us the crunch of snow
under tires and feet





Tuesday, April 10, 2018

EOS

thirty minutes
before the end
of a shift
is a pill taken
slowly
a dipping
of the toe
into a warm
soothing bath
the first steps
of a walk
through the woods
on a crisp
October eve
a harvest of
elderberries
and seeing the
wine in the small
dark violet
filled fruit



Saturday, April 7, 2018


Pillars

brittle are the branches
of the forest
of the tall skeletal trees
the white leather bark
bares the lack
of trust
and the saturation
of fear

the tall skeletal trees
hide behind
their gray barrels
their money masks
their churchy charms
their wind

they rattle their laws
in the ravenous tempests
the yellowed faded laws
that fall to the floor
to be trodden upon
until they are earth itself

the tall skeletal trees
that have a taste
for their own
bleached flesh
and impatiently wait
in the ravenous tempests
for one of their own
to fall
into the puddles of piss
they sip from




Thursday, April 5, 2018

Conversation with a shapeshifter

I was shutting
the doors to
my optical cabinets
when a curious fellow
introduced himself
with a sharp and
malevolent grin
as I gazed upon him
I couldn't grasp
a clear image of
what his face might be
for with each ticking
of each second
on the clock down the hall
I was looking upon
a different face
his form would not
or maybe even could not
rest on one image
at first I was amused
with the wonder
of the fluid face
but tired soon
and began questioning,
"Who are you?"
"What do you want?"
"Why are you here
in all these various forms?"
then slowly yet abruptly
the fellow chose
to come to rest
upon a hideous sight
that very one mentioned
previously concerning the grin
and his eyes were large
dark blue empty circles
with his triangular teeth
shown gritted and full
while his words spilled
out from somewhere else
and his words more hideous
than his expression 
when he told me,
"I am you within"



Robin snow

this bit of chill
this bite of cold
the pale hand
not letting go
of the bare tree branches

this layer of fluff
it is just enough
to cover the green
so eager to spring
from thawing earthly beds

this here today
gone tomorrow snow
that reveals nights
and hides away
morsel crumbs from robins




Friday, March 30, 2018

Glass

we placed a glass
to separate us 
yet to view
what we no longer
wanted to be
a part of
still we have traded
this division
for a revision
of what is in
front of our eyes
for what we want
to see
leaving us blind
to reality
and numb to humanity
and looking through
a glass darkly




Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Cubicle

serpents arise
from the pit hole
in the corner of the cube
ascending from the
abysmal shadows
of the floor
they claim the shelf
for their own
devious deeds
coiling around the feet
of the two faces
staring blankly
into the space
of the cube
in dust
and wasted time
the serpents are still
and silent under
the gray horizon
waiting for the mouse
to move



Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Lodged in dreams

while searching 
for a story
in a rural field of
the astral plain I
drifted to last night
I happened upon
a secret society
of men who built
without nails
though the ceiling
of their lodge
was grinning with
an iron smile
and their members
were strangers
though I knew
one or two of them
but the leader
was invested to show
me their ways
and we left the lodge
into the sudden night
and pondered those
who may fly
through darkened skies
and I confessed I had
seen some before
as we watched remnants
of a flare
fall down upon
the grassy floor
yet waking had
other plans 
and grabbed my shoulder
to pull me from
the scene
though I longed for
and struggled to
remain in the dream



Monday, March 26, 2018

Gray day

a shadow bobs
atop the street light
some boasting crow
seemingly drunk
on the dismal gray
drizzly dreary day

drops bead on
the envious glass
wishing it could
be so fluid
in its transparent
reflections

only geese are
darker ash than
the clouds that
don't even bother
to show they are
there in the sky
but rather rain
on ducks who
dip themselves
in the nearby pond





Friday, March 16, 2018

Squirrel

he found comfort
in the slight vertigo
from the teetering
on two legs of
the stool with
uneven feet

it lured him
into its trance
enveloping him
with the moment
and severing ties
of his surroundings

he longed to be
the frisky squirrel
he spied between
the slots of
the dirty white blinds
in the vacant break room

though the wind
was harsh and
bearing knives of ice
he wished he had
the apparent freedom
the squirrel sprinted
through the wild
woods with




Saturday, March 10, 2018

Mouthless man

slice of skin
in snow and ice
the fragment of glass
concealed in shadows
the sharpened edge
of frozen silica
separating flesh
flinging open the pale drapes
to reveal a river of crimson silk
spilling out onto the white of snow

the match strike
sulfur siren calling to
each pyromaniac
a lust for light and flame
for ravenous heat
in the dark of winter hearts
the black edged pages
of the fire's story
the rise of ashen embers
and smoke laced words
spoken in the chilled stale air

the spittle of the burn
descending upon the snowy sheet
laden with charcoal smudge
and sanguine splatter
the tattered tale
of the fire's feast
spread out at the feet
of the mouthless man



Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Terror of the rain

the raindrops feared
the talons
of the polar hawks
that flew in with
the Arctic tempest
and turned white
against the gray sky
their pebbled bodies
collected on the streets
and sidewalks
creating a beaded
memorial of their haste
but many grew wings
and floated through
the turbulent air
sticking to glass
and then giving into
their warmth
I could only sit and
watch through
the perspiration
on the window
of my ride
this terror of the rain





Tuesday, February 27, 2018

30

the sigh
of a workday
gone by
is still 30
minutes out
the impact with
the ground
and a falling
body from
the overpass
was less than
30 seconds
shit the weekend
is more than
30 hours from now
and daffodils
are at least 30
days away




Thursday, February 22, 2018

Those that never were

were they ever
the mortar between
the bricks
what glued this
time with that
who fed the kings
when they were babes
who pushed scientists
to explore certain subjects
who tended the tree
that grew the apple
that fell on some one's head
those who labored for
wool that weaved an empire
or tended worms
to build a road of silk
what is built with
their bones
what is scattered
with their screams
what is held tightly
within their dreams
of those that never were



Monday, February 19, 2018

The house of again

relentless phantoms
who drag my eyelids
down over my windows
drawing the blinds
and draping the sheet
over my sleep
carefully carrying me
cradled to their bosom
and dropping me into
the dark well of dreams
of their screams
a night to awake
within their house
again and again
with its numerous rooms
and cavernous ceilings
and the dreadful attic
where they entertain
their guests and I
who see other worldly ways
and who they are
their ethereal bodies
rising from their beds
as though we have both
been beckoned to this plane
from our respective realms
and that I may hold
a message just as surely
as they bare one for me
taking me through the halls
a doorway is passed
out into the grounds
where though I don't see
I have seen heaven bloom
from the bare garden dirt
yet heaven now sleeps
in the bowels of hell
and we hurry to
a smaller house of the keeper
and one large room
with bookcase under lock and key
of which is given me
though the key is turned
I see neither my arm nor hand
and unburden the open drawer
of its numerous books
I flip through several bibles
as it was whispered something
may be in their pages
the last bible I find I begin
to flip through but stop
its weight grows heavy
and falls to the floor
bearing the word Sakurnz
I hold it no more




Thursday, February 15, 2018

Sower's dream

seeds turn to leaves
in the sower's dream
out of the soil
emerges the realized
hope from within the shell
buds blossom and bloom
with all the colors
displayed in the rain
after a tempest
tendrils reach and curl
as stretching cats and dogs
awaking from naps
roots dig down and deep
with ravenous fervor
and thoughts of thirst
fields are full
with swaying stems
and forests fill
with the lullaby
of creaking boughs
breezes put adrift
cotton clouds of seeds
that turn to leaves
in the sower's dream



Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Us



they flow through themselves
never being entirely of oneself
even while appearing to be
as their whole ebbs and
flows into other states of being
they always return to be as one
in whatever form they choose
or their surroundings choose for them
they cannot escape their entirety
and no matter how adulterated
they might become while away
they return to be as pure as 
they were when they left
they are storms of wrath
and pools of serenity
they are mists of despondence
they are fountains of laughter
they are tickling drops
and steams of comfort
they are quenching and flooding
and drowning
they are us



Wednesday, February 7, 2018

Grandpa

dust of those
western roads
still rests in
his lungs
where it tells
its tall tales
to at least seven
decades of
tobacco soot

its favorite is
about Betty Lou
who can bring
most anyone out
of their blues
with her smile

and how the
cloudless prairie sky
has nothing on
the hue of her eyes

and how Mr. Williams
took the words
right out of his mouth
when she was cooking

and how she is still
willing to help out anyone
needing it even though
she needs it more
these days

and how she helped
him the most
pretty near all
his life and still
does simply by
being there

guess not all the tales
dust has to tell
are tall ones




Tuesday, February 6, 2018

Snow angels

a tree scratched sky
lies above us
in the dismal gray
of the approaching
February eve
flakes that fell
yesterday fuse
together under
the pressure of
our exhausted bodies
those dark tears
in the sky
those sprawling arms
those sharp and
silent frozen vipers
only slightly sway
above the bodies
we left behind




Monday, February 5, 2018

The smell of wet paper

ink bled when
the pen sailed through
the puddled tears
collecting on a piece
of notebook paper
and some of her last
words were muddled
and hard to discern
their intent were as
clear as the August day
she decided not to
any longer
the kick of the stool
was her last choice
the strength of the
rope was her last hope
and the August wind
took away her last breath





Sunday, February 4, 2018

Hybrid

drops mingle
as two alpha pythons
passing one another
ready to start consuming
the other at its tail

swirls the double helix
in a cyclonic fury
found on the plains
as strands either
chase or bolt in
their joint dance

these opposing poles
in their magnetic clasp
of one being with
two battling bloods
how even his
atoms are repulsed
by each other

though heaven
has wept and hell has
erupted within his
trembling veins
the stars still
tethered to his
corpse keep him
upon this earth



Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Tears of the ancients

it shall fall on mankind
the tears of the ancients
and they will be found
upon the dry earth left
behind and in the waters
tainted by hatred and
in the very air of greed

the tears of the ancients
will bear witness to the
downfall of mankind
and will be a tidal wave
through their numbers
and will lead emptiness
throughout the lands

no weapon mankind
will find to raise against
this enemy and shall
long for the tears to
have never flown from
their frozen bearers
yet the ancients shall
not harbor any pity




Friday, January 26, 2018

Melt the gods

stone hearts
rolling in those
immortal breasts
icy judgment
so precise
unflinching words
in uninhibited wrath
wide eyed
soul-piercing stares
of the statuesque
accusers and blamers
in this moment
of eternity

their frozen
disapproval loses
its balance
on those infamous scales
their stone hearts
are met with
feather and wedge
their wide eyed
stares tear and
flow as rivers
to the seas
when a mother
hugs her child
when a community
embraces its own
when a nation
feeds its hungry
when humanity
is humane




Thursday, January 25, 2018

Arbor adore

my gods are trees
they visit me
in nocturnal whims
of the mind
their massive trunks
dressed in layered bark
are the columns
of their own great temples
and they lay me
in their coiled roots
where their May drift
cotton has collected
I lazily watch the dance
of emerald gleam
adorning their lofty crowns
and hearing their
heartbeat within my chest
I know that I
was one of them




Monday, January 22, 2018

Winter words

how these words
I've bitten into
are no longer the
luscious fruit
I used to savor
it's a bitter
soliloquy
and the very
sound of my voice
echoes shrill cries
throughout the chasms
of my body
yet I still speak
still I voice and
keep wiggling
the loose tooth
as blood trickles
down my throat
and pain reminds
me of life




Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Pre meditation

cavernous and empty
save for a few
dusty wooden chests
to the side
under some old
moth eaten tarps
I think they may
be filled with old songs
the chests
not the tarps
those type of melodies
that are better served
as bicycle wheels
hopefully the lids
are on tight