Friday, January 13, 2017

called death

forget to light the candle o'er
the fire's glow of faded edges,
what little can be remembered
of what once was though it's broken,
thrown away through burning wick,
the word flickers and suffocated,
pulses to each weakened breath,
is a starry, familiar ghoulish face

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

writing in rain

there, across the keys
bobbing up and down

on waves

monosyllabic, mute       saints
knuckles cracking, bones snapping
strung along about the endless white

a long march of nothing

thoughts about death

but I will not die today, in the rain
as it tumbles down yet          unseen

I'm ready to let dry

clothes, fingers, the day     the night

where goes the wind in mountains unseen

and the rain distorts the screen
floods the page.

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Thrown away

pale are the glories brought before and
quiet is the history of the mind. One that lies
and falsifies itself with story.

There in the trunk is the truth. Locked
safely away. The many thoughts of every
other body minus my own. My own is not
like those.

Orange peels, onion skin, egg shells. All
I have to offer is hollow leftover remains.
Pretty paintings without a canvas, no brush,
no pen, not a single frame.

Nothing worth keeping.

Friday, January 6, 2017

Home

when i am gone. things
remain static.

i had once clung to imagery. to
write down. now I can't find it.

you called me. on the phone,

i could have texted. but
i didn't.

i never do. i constantly
think about it. texting. how
i never do it.

it was a misunderstanding.
why you called. why i replied,
i never meant to.

so i had to lie. to
not hurt your feelings. i lied.

i said 'i was just thinking about
calling you.'

but i wasn't. i wasn't thinking
that at all.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

watercolor of a rooster; misinterpreted

black gloved hand reaching toward me, fingers grappling,
white forearm to bicep, grotesquely muscled, shaded gray,
the blood red mask covered face cut by three long gashes,
a single ugly, near reptilian eye, cold, piercing stare,
one jagged, ugly, gold tooth, sharpened to tear.

Monday, January 2, 2017

First spot

closest to the farthest spot,
first space on the longest mile,
left in park, ignition off;
walking home through the rain.

Sunday, January 1, 2017

Daughter

my daughter was very old,
yet, I was a young man.

no, she was not very old,
in the way that is very old,

she was very old to me,
for, I had never known her.

my daughter had grown up without me.
she was someone I did not know.

I remembered her the day she was born,
in that, I was sure she existed.

it was just so strange that this many years had passed
without my realizing.

I could not say a word to her,
and to me, she could not even look.

You have not raised her, thought,
as I watched her walk around and past and before me,

that is why you do not now her,
why you will never know her,

you are far too removed to ever care about anyone but yourself.

Holly Ho 2

time the lights
are hollow husks,
torn from cable
wrapped up tight
safely melted down,
colored as bright
as the sky
on empty winter nights.

Holly Ho 1

time the lights
are broken down,
locked in caskets
metal-lined,
stowed away
beneath the deck
in dank galleys
on haunting ships.

12:03 am

hey, it's old
news
by now;
move on.

12 am

auto-tune
countdown
one second behind
the rest--
where were the visions,
then?
--happy new years;
i guess

12:02 am

over
the other side
what remains
already done
another trip
around another
sun

12:01 am

on the
balcony alone
no shouts
cork flight out &
down for the sidewalk
bound
champagne cold
on my hands
the wind 

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Ambulance dream

inside the ambulance
if you open the door
past the stench
covered in red
the metallic insides metallic floor
fleshy rolls of canvas paper
dripping like old wrapped meats
hung to dry from the ceiling
meticulously curated
if you could supress your screams
you'd see through the doors
further back in the woods
like mirrors face to face
an infinite number of like vehicles
with no conceivable end
no escape

Saturday, December 3, 2016

A Tale of Two Coffees

two different days
two shirts the same

you said again
how you felt

I answered again
in return

two cups of coffee
ordered the same

one better than the last
plus tax

both heads covered
one cloth one wool cap

two different order times
on night and one in the afternoon

a quick stop and go for me
you're there $8/hour five days a week