Soon I’ll be dead
with a face of red flowers
and all will be calm
time counting the hours

The Outcrying world
filled oceans in tears
forgotten its namesake
carousing with fear

crept into battle
trapped in life war
gave left eye for one
so one collects four

Turned on its head
it carries like weight
sleeping in waking
a genetical trait

wavelengths ring crimson
infectious with pulse
smoothing over the rips
love-creatures grow close

glimmers of wisdom
clutch out at the seams
kissed by imagination
manifested with dreams

Rise within sunlight
manufacture to pull
be as a walrus
make eden half full

Words can survive
through a face of red flowers
the truth can be heard
and the words could be ours


Why does it have to be this way?
I fought for something different.

and I now I realized what it meant,

or how I spent

all my life moving and twisting
dodging bullets and hauling carcass

falling off trees and scarping knees
so that I could send my kids to college

What the fuck?

Is that all it comes down to
because if so

I wouldn’t mind a bullet in my head

for the rest of my life.

What ever happened to chivalry?
or did that die when I was born

Can’t you see it’s contagious


You can catch it, and fall so far in
that you don’t know ass from elbow

I’m lost and I don’t know what the fuck to use
as a compass

and I’m too lazy to point north

But tomorrow I will wake up
brush my teeth
bleed out my gums

and try again.


There was something carved into the newly bare wooden floor. But why hadn’t I noticed it before. It struck me as a sign or something worse, a wakeup call that blind-sides you on an idle Sunday:    Cursed.

Cursed with knowing more than I should know.About the things above below. Right, and left, or wrong and right? Or what one dreams about in the night.Or why it is that dreams exist? Or why the rhyming stops after this.

Why are painful thoughts more powerful than pleasurable ones Edmund Burke?

 How is it that words like F*ggot or N*gger; tiny compositions of man made letters   Evoke such strong emotions on the complexity of the  human brain?

How is it that human beings haven’t lost their minds yet:  We travel at the speed of sound, but can never know what happens tomorrow.

 Innocent people die in vein everyday

Everyone lives together in their own world, I used to think we were all in the same one.  But one must hope fore hope, and that then creates it.

 And I believe clouds can have a silver lining.


it is that same belief, that is truly befuddling.


The idea of belief being what any single human brain perceives to be reality,   makes  me wonder.

 How would you ever know if a sign is a sign ?

Or if you are crazy for looking?

 Or why the wind blows, (watching the trees dance as I sit)

Or why I think the answer is somehow in the wind.

Un done


I’d like to paint your picture

but my clumsy fingers would do no justice

to your complexion

Inspiring are those eyes which I

chance upon a gaze

a touch

a breath.

A single finger to which I cannot resist

my heart will twist and tumble beneath it’s burrow

a fall too far to burden, to bear

to lose.

Lost in imaginations of your coat tails

and coffee stains, your bedside book

and the way you look at me.

The smell of your tongue

and the taste of your ear.

To all this I am wax to a wick.

Continue reading

A poem for poems

withdrawn and removed
we can see ahead of a curve
if we bend our necks.
taking place in  unknown reality

all exists

or has the possibility.

late in the day looking out
on the horizon.
we find them.
those muses

To Find.

Alone in the world we are born together
The only place we have in common is our brain
We can touch, smell, taste, hear and see
anything we choose to be

our reality, or not

We rot,

slowly as soon as we are born
once unborn the process quickens

A thorn

thought which remains locked away
reserved for those other days


awaiting white rays to pull us up and out
some shout        some
scream  some cry

making us human through our emotions
we survive.

Through thickest wood, and ice like thin
Deep down darkened caves, or enchanted coves
High dunes of dust thrust through righteous winds
along the road that holds the thrown…

Even then, when we reach the top of the highest mount,
and we stare knowingly into that golden sphere
all shouting
we can make out a carving
burned into the inscription.