Pandemonium comprehended
Thursday, June 11, 2026
Throwing daggers
an ambitious fiend
by the name of Ire
carries around a
fistful of blindfolds
he loves to use on
so many people who
are standing on the edge
his brother fiend
by the name of Scorn
carries around a
fistful of daggers
he loves to put in
the hands already
blindfolded by Ire
their sister fiend
by the name of Maim
carries around a
mouthful of lies
she loves to whisper
into the ears of those
holding daggers from Scorn
AM rains
morning rains
in the darkened sunrise
on stilts of spikey spruce
silhouettes in the dim light
the world outside
blurred by slow running
splatter of morning rains
on dirty windshield
and side windows
a pause before the begin
a stall before the labor
a moment to take it all in
and sit with both
disappointment and gratitude
in the morning rains
Wednesday, June 10, 2026
Let it be written
whatever has been
written on my skin
is an old story
they are words
that have passed
scars that have
outgrown their lessons
wounds that have
long since healed
whatever has been
written on my heart
is the current tale to tell
they are words
that belong to me
people that I'll
always have a smile for
places that will
always make me tear up for
whatever has been
written on my soul
is vague yet so familiar
they are words
I have yet to understand
doors I have yet
to find the keys for
and moments that will
turn my world upside down
Oh you can
you can play the violin
of my soul
gliding your fingertips over
the inside of my elbow
you can melt the entire
iceberg underneath
with a swoop of your hand
up my leg and then down
to my feet
you can u-turn at anytime
when you pass my way
you can ask me anything
I might surprise you
in what I might say
you can do all these things
and I hope even more
and I promise I will
do some things
you won't be able
to ignore
Tuesday, June 9, 2026
Vacant beats
early morning conversation
with the heart
my what it has to say
at three thirty three
what it will entertain
what fantasies it will weave
into the fabric of the sheets
gladly am I its confidant
in these wee hours
let it bellow before sunrise
the pillow sopping up
the river of tears
the regrets and the fears
and the lament over
what was lost
or never achieved
in all those previous years
Tempest hag
the gray hand
stretches across the land
it knocks over
the trees and power poles
as an impatient reach
across the chess board
downs a pawn or knight
the tempest hag screams
upon the howling winds
her cackle booms
in the explosive thunder
the dark skies flash
when her electric hair
whips through the clouds
her multitude of arms
wreak havoc on everything
she passes over
yet the only relief
is that she bores easily
and flies off to the horizon
with her cackle echoing
off in the distance



