Wednesday, November 1, 2023

5 years

Remember as the sun set on James island
     Barely there beach and we sat there


                 in a blaze of red

Fading into the coming night

And how after heading back to our camp
An old man
                      stopping us
to show the pictures he had taken of 
Our silhouettes together encircled by 
Fiery dusk

How he asked for our emails 
In effort to send the photos to us and 
How we wrote them down
a piece of barely damp notebook paper
And how walking away you said

He's never going to send them
Because he was going to jerk off to them

And recall how I'm sitting here tonight
Still waiting for those photos even though
It's been what, five years?

Wednesday, June 28, 2023

Dreams this morning

I couldn't know

where you were taking me;
fleeting memories;
my eyes watching your fingers
to last mists of the morning;
a yellow sky
a life I had left;
losing the last threads of
how did I come to remain here
watching you open your eyes?

Tuesday, February 15, 2022

my mother was a sunshine of memory

there was a short walkway to the duplex 
around which japanese beetles swarmed
my mother was a sunshine of memory yellow at 
the back of my neck
she illuminated the pavement that soon
would cease to be my world
on Belmont ave alone with a baseball bat
I swung and took the life of a swarm of firefly 

I have long ago forgotten their names

I have since lived in regret and supplication
their death lights remind me of the faces of dead cats 
our neighbors killed. 

In my dreams I am tormented by two places

a small infinitely growing patch of grass at 
the end of a long suburban street

a gray hulking jug shaped water tower
watching from a distance.

30 years ago I leapt from the top of the
tallest slide in the world

in my memory they have left it standing
after all these years.

Friday, January 28, 2022

Parallel Dystopia

 forward to come to the 
place of hanging wire
the autumn of electric civilization
moss growth on the canopy towers
walking alone
 the cables droop like my steps
as sinking into pot holes I watch
into the long lonely paved distance
there is no ride coming to tell of the here now
end of time
  I am in possession
of the last threadbare pair 
of mournful jeans
the last immutable skeletal remains
a faint clicking of branches 
brings the final static fall
of the human forest

 blinding smoke whiter than ancient
cloud bodies drift over the corpse of 
the summer afternoon
there is no temperature left
all the mercury having sunk 
into my skin

I can no longer find pockets
for my bloodied hands
I can no longer find skin
to cover their naked flesh
 the distant shriek of amnesiac
cell phones have replaced even 
the oldest bird song 
the last human voice lost to antiquity
leaving a message I am not
sure I understand

Saturday, January 22, 2022


                   I keep the door closed
my hands crack against the fault line
it breaks like the spine of a book
folding back spilling letters out
the pages rain slowly slipping
under the rug
I wonder if the door could open
without me were I to wait
there isn't anything left inside
the sound of breath that are not mine
the growing distance between myself and the cold
a window pane peering behind its own eyes
sees nothing but the light 

Thursday, January 20, 2022


Standing in that kitchen
The cold tile glowing radiantly under the dying oven light
Late into the morning late into the evening
Leaning against the loose knobs of the cold stove top
Coming down from mushroom acid drunk trip holding a can of beer in my hand
feeling the open flesh under finger nails
Listening to you laugh and the sounds of your voices 
echoing into the darkened walls of the old house I was waiting for the universe 
To halt itself in momentary standstill to split into a billion known possibilities 
to reach the end of its endless trek into the ever sharpening void
Standing in that kitchen wanting to hold each of you forever screaming 
into the abyss of timeless nothing-ness and shadow
Sitting here tonight alone under the foggy light of a winter moon 
wishing it all had come true

Thursday, December 9, 2021

rambling buttons

  the button has evolved into 
a noiseless vacuum for sound 
spilling out unconscionable 
silent lies           twisted in fabricated knots
                         clinging to the pasts of the
                         world    they are in nameless
   ways a detailed map
of the future rot of post-
cyber-space frontiers
the plastic encased        forests of the afterlife
                                     conceptual landscape 
                                     forbidden in un-digitized 
   the button has been transformed
by formidable lies arranged by
present visions of mankind
wrapped in napkins and placed
rather lovingly in the trashcans
of the once bountiful regions
formerly known as the silicon 

Wednesday, December 8, 2021


 the last episode of a particular chapter 


I buried it
in the remains of the backyard
under the violet sky

as the moon looked down

                       I tried not to picture its eyes
glowing against my back

I tore my hands at the digging

I cut the ground with my tears

I placed a stone upon its head

as the moon fell behind the collapsed roof

as the rising clouds peered up
I took out my hands
I drew a corpse 
into their rusted breath


 I wonder when times moves across the trees
dragging the clouds I wonder what will become 
of the hours it takes to erase the grass I wonder
what will be built upon those memories we have
almost forgotten I wonder how the glass will break
down and becoming sand I wonder what will the plants
be like that take my place

Monday, December 6, 2021

time to write a poem about covid and false memories of the past

 you could swim at the far end of the tent.     at 4am the temperature was steadily
falling toward the floor.    it would be hours until the sun rose about the spires 
that stood in for the trees of our past.     there were no sounds that could be made
into car engines.     you said it yourself      we are truly alone.
     there was nothing beyond the lake but the wreck of the next several years.
they reminded me of the isolation I had grown to know in the past.     where we
were going would we would need to swim.    downriver. we only had left one 
change of clothes.
the seasons worked in reverse until they were children again.     when the world 
would be faded at the edges with the liminal fragrances of the cathode tubes.
something haunting and safe.    to scare their shadows into abeyance again.
     to find what was lost they plunged their faces in.     they bit and tore at the veins
we drank until there was nothing
you wept for any thing else left.

on purpose

I am upstairs
looking like the leaves
falling from those trees
I can see outside the window

the motion of branches 
blowing in the wind
draws my attention
to puddles of red and yellow
in the street
a ups driver navigates 
a gray circle of concrete
the dead end turn
the bleak future straight ahead

he doesn't touch a single leaf

Friday, September 17, 2021


Hidden away in the bathroom
the tiles are left wordless
Cold and lifeless too
Evey poem is a failed self-portrait
I am here too
making it up as I go along
Kept from the stars by windowpane
Kept from reality by the door

Sunday, September 5, 2021


It is in france
the mimes have all gone post modern
You pass them on street corners 
defaced by alleyways
unable to grasp their age
without makeup the face has melted off 
they stand there without lifting their cane
they don't give a shit about your change

Tuesday, April 27, 2021


 the shadow that the floorboard casts

across my feet.

yesterday's coffee stirs

in the breeze sneaking under

cracks in window

leave broken faces staring into the sun


my hands have no age

i dont recognize them

no wrinkle forms a memory

no scars are a thought

my dreams have transpired

they have become more reality than not

a neighbors lawnmower purrs

the grass is already asleep.

Friday, April 9, 2021

A Collection of Dream V

 blocking the exits

a man dismantles a typewriter     door frame

I walked down using the back

of chairs

                 it was to escape an theatre with 

no screen     I should have asked him to move

but I didn't want to bother     ruin his


my hat is on my hip when I mean to make

sure I didn't leave it in my seat

the film flips at its end black white then black and white

two huge metal doors creak and

the theatre exits and an escalator like metro

removes     takes me outside into a city 

unlike but it feels like generally