Saturday, November 24, 2012

Desk Drawer

A reputation above all others
kept frankly in the envelope
within the desk drawer
beneath bills,
and letters
Becomes an irreliable
source of conflict

Tuesday, November 13, 2012


We often toss them into the water as we linger on edges of fountains for too long. We drown them and expect they will sprout into something more than what is worth tossing away. There, they choke as we peer down. Strange we never reach in and scrape them up to buy cake or some means to accomplish what we live for. Rather, we turn to Mother's pocket for a hopeful nudge at something to be proud of. Here, we toss in the cake or the means to achieve what we should be living for, in with the other wasted cents and sense. Shortly after, we walk over to buy cake but never the means to begin what we live for.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Words of Michelangelo

Noting intellect, or lack 
of such a notion 
in our humanity, here 
I have chosen to portray
the intellect 
so nearly exchanged 
between God and Adam.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Sleep's Eve

A plump Red,
born from blossoms
and bulging by sun-scorch,
now sags from singed
rusty leaves and slither-hymns
of trees on the Eve of
snow-graves and sleep.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012


Soon is an aloof.
Further, too, is aloof.
Clutching scales put all
open in dash
in regard.
of damaged, of
of sole strange;
all through wavers
Aloof is a further
too tolerant.

Sunday, October 7, 2012


i am                                            in my head
shaping my eyes to greed         i drop my breath
and obviously                            i am
not                                             the only one who cannot breathe
completely                                 to save myself
in vain

Wednesday, October 3, 2012


An abrupt silence
reached across the windowsill
and flew off
like frightened starlings,
foreboding words
trembling limply in my hand.

--A Found Poem with elements 
from Chaim Potok's In the Beginning

Sunday, September 23, 2012


Remember that trick
when magicians tear cloths from tables, 
Only startling those crystal cups
and not screaming them to the ground?

It is nothing like that trick
Because doctors severed and tore
after startled questions,
And he no longer stands.


Beyond evergreen
seams lie starving trances, dulled
Drifting from view, veered
away, awakening, Now
tethering treaded fancies


More so than a long wait
or a long jog
or a long day
Those thoughts and memories
cluttering and scribbling 
in my head
wear me out too quickly
and too fully.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

A Funeral

Casting ink shadows on walls
is the sun
falling toward its defeat
blazing orange and hysterical.

Tugged by a noose,
it writhes
leaving an ink cast hood behind.

Bellowing down,
drowning now
The sun, assaulted as ever
and writhing like mad
As the ink-casts bob and dance like porpoises
celebrating a death

Thursday, August 9, 2012


Just there,
there, clasping leaves
And barricading drops
of broken sky
Only moving
to shiver
Yet to speak
And yet to leave

Tuesday, August 7, 2012


There are indifferent times of
where I spend my time
But mostly
out of fear
Toward pendings and otherwise.

Monday, July 30, 2012

of edges

summer gusts
gusty charms
i'm at the edge
of edges
glancing at pretty things
and dreaming
hearing simple songs
slurred thoughts
ifs and thoughs

Friday, July 13, 2012



from riches and trinkets
barreled a draped smile, hanging
And the bitter sang songs
of the abandoned sweet
That returned, inevitably
Even after tangled flutters
and eye-closing


Monday, July 9, 2012

And Concrete

To shape my head inside
And butterflies carving,
The concrete way
down below is there
Afraid to drop
And butterflies

And the breath in my head
is there
Afraid to drop there
And longer

And my breath carves the concrete


Besides the fact that
he resides outside of
his mind
He is well aware
of outside minds

Friday, July 6, 2012

Mason Jar

It feels nice
Pouring my thoughts out like this
Onto the page
Because it's been bottled
Sometimes trickling through my mouth
Not with no regret, sometimes
But the regret always lies in the bottling
And it feels nice
Pouring my thoughts out like this
Onto the page
Because it's been bottled
And the regret always lies in the bottling


Manners don't matter
after the dust coats your hair
Because why should they, anyway
I only notice because
manners don't matter when
your bones grow longer
And the world sees you,

A vulnerable

But not the pitiful kind
But the kind who is pathetic
Because there is no dust in your hair

And they trail the fragments across the tile
You were going to sweep there, anyway
Because manners don't matter when
you're just going into the world
And they're on their way out.

Iron Stain

Is it ironic when
your iron is coal
And instead of smoothing the creases
it powders and steams
a legion of black
And stain
And muck

Or is that how we function, anyway
heading toward the crowds of black blouses
And stain
And muck

And we walk with them
Even when we recall the bliss
of white shirts
with maybe a crease, there

And now it's on your face
That stain
And muck


I chose gouache
As a medium
It's runny and saturated all at once.
I never wash my brush
Because the used paint will look
And not cobalt or sienna
Because everyone only sees blue and brown, anyway
But mine
Are stumbles and tries
Runny and saturated all at once.
I never wash my brush
Because the used paint will look


then you vented
The vent's next to the outlet, anyway
So it figures
But now the static's out
And everything's flat back 
to normal
And it makes sense again
But what is sense after
you jab forks into the outlet