Tuesday, September 20, 2016


these times between          grow short

I am not me for what I     was

a gnawing at the bone          the ivory bone of things
at the heart     goes corrupt

this standing still     this one view

harder to see from the lip      of my deepening grave

there is everywhere else to go     and the dirt packs
dry and sick           about the horizon

Monday, September 19, 2016

She was of dying

'take me behind the barn doors' she said
                                                   'and fuck me where you have no cock'

so hanging from the exposed wood she said,

'this is rape'

I know.

and you are scared,' she said and I had already said I know.

it was too dark to find the gash
                                                   at my waist

she pulled her nails across my eyes

there were eyes in the next stall rolling

a faint sound

from my lips or
                          from hers

'you can't do anything right,' I whispered.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016


one by one
each letter back to you
scratched in ink cuts
meaning less than you can say
splashed with ink guts
thick and red under fingers
running nails about its edge
the thread drags open and closes
uneven markings printed lines
ripples spiraling along the grain
with a stench to follow
building along with the years
one by one they pile each sediment in line
layers that sticks to your skin
that rising that sinking
to bury you

to bury you.

Love note

she came by yesterday
four a couple minutes
i dont know lately
things have been weird
between us;
she didn't say anything.

i asked her not to cry
but she covered her eyes
and turned out the lights,

she ruined my shoes
and didn't think twice about it.

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

Cemetery Song

I had given up quickly on the missing stack of post-it note,

slowly edging the new pad out of its plastic shell,

found the old one a few hours later under the keyboard

lightly used,

                                                    what is to be done?

both sit at right angles in various states of misuse,

several layers peeled off and scratched, stuck, tossed away,

the responsibility falls on me to make use of both,

too much responsibility there,

the yellow faces staring up into the white dropped void,

I don't think I have it in me to carry this


watching the revert to draft option

is there eyes out there

linked to a pretty brain

who could take the time

out of their pretty day

to count these lost words up

poem x poem

they won't print out for free in pdf

if the website goes down

fuck, there'll be nothing left.

people walking across the street and the white bus that passed them

the bus was so much faster than you, you know?
tho it carried what, 30, 40 times your weight, maybe?
that many more minds, too, and yet, like you, it obeyed
that little green or little red light, think about that, it had
onboard airconditioning too, so it was in no hurry to get out
of the heat, and it was a bus even, so it probably couldn't,
anyway, it was most likely enroute to some layered
parking estate and there you were for a second walking
beside it going that same way only slower so much slower
thinking how to get out of the heat without sweating too much
going with the flow of the other feet, carrying your own weight.

Monday, September 5, 2016


those orange stickers on your used books

take them off

they are former names of a former mistress

they are not meant to remain

a reminder of past places

past names

leave your seal within the pages

let the carcass rot away the years on your shelf

this is nothing

nibs licks his gray fur in the yellow sun rays
Tom Waits sings a boiling sea
you can match the rhythm of both
to the south going traffic and the rain never came

what if many things could mean many things?

downstairs I clacked in sandals to the lobby
watched an old man drink a sextuple espresso
frowning into his cup
filled my own double shot

what if one thought could be many thoughts?

on the elevator my floor was already pushed
when it stopped I was the only one to get off
I waited to be last but there was only me to go

what if many actions had no consequences?

nibs waited at the door fur darkened
he pushed his head into the hallway
pupils wide looking right
looking left

I nudged his nose back inside with my foot.

The poem left in the car

like a neon scarecrow
hanging on a road closed sign,

opposite a pond,
a flock of geese descend,

the road's cracked rocks and gristle,

the pond stagnant and low,

in number the geese land silent splash in the sun

scarecrow hangs his head and groans.

Monday, August 29, 2016

it's important to know who started it

the drone bombs all went to church together,
they dropped righteous bombs on weekdays,

there were memes dedicated to their unbelief,
these were meant to satisfy the ego of the dispossessed,

did you know this sniveling fact,
this slattern relief?

where we didn't start the war,
we burned the bodies of our enemies,

for words and rationalia
or for whatever and god
the same,

each drone earns a purple heart,
it is what they call a loaded bomb
placed gently in the gut by caring hands
and released by remote alarm.


blackberries outside marblemont;

crusty hiker kids reclining
by roadside
offering the fresh picked fruit for free
I reached in
worked a handful out
purple black juice on my fingers
downed them in thanks
and left the kids still reclined
to jump in the car
headed first for coffee
next for Ross Lake

About the poem I left in my car

I left a poem in my car,
in the slot at the bottom of the driver's side door,

it was about a closed road and geese landing
in a pond,

there were reeds around the pond
and the road was nothing but smashed rock,
powdered gray dust,

I was stopped at a red light inbetween,
then I was writing as I drove,
pen scratching steering wheel,

it wasn't until I was a mile away
and the car engine cooling down
and the interior heating up in the sun
that I realized I'd left my words behind.

Friday, August 19, 2016

Coffee Run

he dropped two pounds last week.
     the weight came right off for want of eating

there were cars on the street
     and the street was an old street with no parking

he was tired and slightly lightheaded
     maybe from dying or just the not eating thing

most likely it was from dying or kidney failure
     maybe it was liver failure or heart or something

the street was parallel to another street east of it
     then west came the river there were no other streets before it

beyond there were probably some other streets
     they were possibly newer and blacker topped

his street the one he was standing on was gray
     there were no sidewalks just a small concrete border and grass

it was not easy to walk and be dizzy and hungry while avoiding cars
     it was not the busiest street but it was not abandoned either

he made his way past the cars and the cars passed him
     there was a place to be at the end of the street

the place to be was where his street went perpendicular to another street
     at the corner there was the place he meant to be going

he wasn't going to eat there but other people did
     just coffee is what he would say and how much is that he would say

he would say that knowing no matter what he was going to buy that
     formalities were observed on this street and he would pay in cash

next to the place he was going were some places he'd never been
     they didn't interest him so he saw their signs but ignored them

he knew some people who liked those stores better
     there was no convincing them otherwise and he wouldn't have tried

he had never been to those stores
     after he got his coffee he would empty a packet of sugar in

stirring the sugar into the coffee gently he would look at the cream
     he would place his hand on the cream but never use it

drinking the coffee made his head feel better
     he decided he wasn't dying after all

on the way back to his car parked with the other cars on his street
     it was nice to walk along the river's edge

he noticed that really there were only like fours different colors for cars
     if you paid spacial attention you might catch an off color one day

the river however was brown today and yesterday and the day before
     tomorrow it would be brown again and the day after

he made his way past the cars and the cars passed him
     the door handle lifted in his hand the latch unlocked and the door slid open

today he was sure to lose another pound
     that would be nice he thought that would make three pounds

Soon i'll be back to eating he said to the inside windshield
     the key turned in his hand and the car gave a jolt at the start

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

draw the line

I will lie when I am drawing the line
even when I am alone

it doesn't matter

I lie and brush it away and let it fall
and if I am not alone I pick it back up
taking quick glances around me
as I brush it off and return it to its place

not if I am alone tho
if I am alone
I savor watching it down there
beside my feet flat to the floor
face down looking away from me
standing above it in the dark

it doesn't matter
but it's what I choose to do
by myself alone unencumbered
owing nothing of any sort to nobody
watchng as a giant from above
at the small discarded things below
while I sit and draw the next line
where maybe I will lie