Monday, December 23, 2019


waked by mother jones
entombed on a sign post
faced to national guard posts
back against the combined might
of the Pentecostal awakening
broken by the sea of automated engines
selling their gooey insides to
the lowest bidder
balanced on one iron leg she stands
a block away the US army
barricades itself inside
protecting the most important
she is unaware of the years slowly eroded
or the yellow grass beneath her
the doldrums of Mays forgotten
half lit on radiator screens
brushed over by calloused finger
she was once MOTHER of ALL
the sad chain gang of FLESH MACHINES
bred in factories
worked in conveyor belt fields
dreaming fabulous MECHANICAL dreams.

Wednesday, November 6, 2019


my grandparents house
still exists.

in the drawers in the bedroom
facing out toward the street
my pop's impeccably
folded clothes

his musty forever smell

the orange carpets
that quiet the stairs
remain there

the railing that shook
but never failed.

the mirror along the living room
reflecting the circle coffee table
the two lounge chairs

the kitchen directly behind

the space between the oven
and cabinets still slim
enough for only a single
body to pass

to the basement steps
just and inch or two
too short

and noticeable

the exposed basement ceiling
the sound of my nana
walking slowly upstairs

heat from the oven working
its way though the floor

she is there missing my

she is there being alone

they are there at the table sitting
at each end

my nana is placing my brother
in his high chair

my pop is feigning disgust
over my sister's laughter

my grandparents house is
still exists.

my grandparents house is
still there.

Wednesday, October 2, 2019

a mushroom grows in winter

last seen
in empty street
hands on crooked chin

just vanish

old island junction split

heard a witness screaming
consumed in lives

a number of years
strung like murder


unsolved reunion cases

not long after
abduction border lines

no body knows

just jump off rutted roads
no tires to churn
the light

Friday, September 20, 2019


and with the sun tucked under
your arm,
you carried my eyes before
the dawn

when i woke up i had forgotten
where to go

because there was no there
where you left me

that was many dreams ago

the last time we talked
you would never close your eyes again

or breathe

'dying is like going to sleep
and never waking up'

and i was there
where ill be

when im the next to find our dream

and we can say good night

to mourn the loss of the sky

but i was born after the fact
and when i landed you would have noticed 
my eyes were gray
If you had watched where I fell 
instead of looking away 

Monday, September 16, 2019

Blood for money

i push my fingernail against
a broken tooth

but the nail bends

maybe i am left behind

a body of broken star systems

starved of calcified bones

ground against the
wiper blades of time

i remember when the insides
did not mold and degrade

when i could see within them
the tenuous blue sky

the limitless progress of age

Tuesday, August 6, 2019

Rooms devoid of light

wind up the
blades  fundamental to
our vibration memory

vultures sitting on propeller
fern trees
                drooping over skid row alleys
of future LAs

a chronicle of walking without
           played on repeat
rewound in VCR type

static board and frayed

the aftermath pre-
recorded      for laughs

perfect symmetry

overtone of darkness
paints the sidewalk black
invisible cigarette butts
in invisible hands

only the broken teeth
tear the page

lost in rooms devoid of
light in almost readable text

total blackout last breath

life memory prior to the end

Friday, July 26, 2019

little boy


where pain shifts like the ping
of engine

the sound of
                  a thousand cats puking


perched on a tree branch
outside your mind

      a mountain top
is flat

if you sleep upon it

think about it

the sky is a blanket of dewdrops
that are vast stars
                               of the void

and you are cold in your sleep
so I cover you with my dreams


what will you look like in
20 years        I can't even imagine
what you will look like   tomorrow

when I am an afterthought of time

when I peer down from the
blank clouds
that are the deep black


ivy white and homeless

trying to catch a glimpse
of your mind

no matter how often
we disappear


my little boy

Thursday, July 11, 2019

the problem will not go away

it was a nothing vote
banned in the crosshairs
of permit relations
no dance license

sensationalized official releases
running smoothly thru news boxes
heavily sedated radio waves
convulsing on the street
under the lights of the iron sweeps

no eyed glasses
lined up outside
     blue rats in military formation
formal head gear
broken lifeless teeth

they hung their smiles
from lightposts died out
gleaming like triggers
gun pushers drugged engines

no widely released lineage
steeped in rotting cords
clueless memorialized slime

full of shit

Monday, July 8, 2019

cafe table hustle

against the table
the rain like nickles
from some lost pocket
discolored and
to the cold silver
speckled ground

under the tables
the spiders born in
back of taxis
new york to holbrook
never knowing their fathers
ask their mothers
how often in their lives
will they have to
watch the sky fall

and the answer unfolds over the
endless flooded grate

until they move the tables away
until they put the tables away

Thursday, June 13, 2019

a murder of lost consciousness

a murder of lost consciousness
eclectic turn back torture

any evening after that

where to find her? in london/
like a missing person

with fact. many to go over

no bags, electronic bags no return ticket

wake up immediately. shock. constipation.

search the computer for drowned bodies
no nothing band playing no attendance

without a trace

an unknown smile with intercom
information linked to blood posting

fire chamber no monday. no money

www close your eyes Tom for a rough translation

who was the question the man asked

at the police station online

a triple phone internet of data
led to untimely death

December 1st 2008

a game of russian roulette/ painted walls
out of her mind magenta. high on conspiracy numbers

in fact. buried. original ideas

sleeping heads on the couch

so quickly did you leave. a death. a birth a homicide

Monday, June 10, 2019

poor post-it notes IV

unattended bodies
feel the crawl of each imagined tick

arms outstretched in ready embrace

the minute horror of the lawn
backyard--the unenviable loss of

the growing up of space--forgetfulness
--the slowing of pace--


poor post-it notes III

the old wood that rots in the garage

what are our priorities? leaning into t
the unknown

I borrow a hat     it catches on my thinning

attention span--lifeline--unphoned
ear--youthful mind

I leave what I've brought in honor of
the trash can

poor post-it notes II

stretch like the pale ghost before me

darken my sad child's brown eyes

narrow in thinning periscopic lament
your great unknowable self

become once again the implausible dream

poor post-it notes I

outline the sun
with red cliffs
sand in my lungs
great gobs of dust
float across the gravel road
--america--you forget me
abstain me--I am lost for words
for you--you endless gray cloud
you endless gray arrow
of the heart you endless idea

Monday, April 15, 2019

Things to do before Breakfast

pick up the alarm &
eat it     the sun comes up
for breakfast     &
the morning is like a mother's

a smile can altered forever
the face of the woman    & has
i love     i have a right eye stuck

a cm out of time     we must
learn what new things are
on your mind     if so

                       death is not nearly
as pale as the moment that births

Saturday, January 5, 2019

The babe

The lost lay beads of smoking tears

a gift they grant is the suffering of life
their smile swell

Waking up to take care of crying babe

I'm on stairs leaning against the wall holding him, teetering

unsure how I got here

not on the stair

I am a father.

Waking in bed paralyzed

to next coming twenty years

a black shroud
shaped as sinister as newborn

head hung on limp rooted neck
stands at the doorway

as an arch

leaning slightly like to burp

his future falling toward

I could not move to escape.