Saturday, July 14, 2018


Sore throats sing
into infinity
Flailing into
Sucking into reality

Failing into death
Sucking into intensity

You better be better

You Better Be Better

You Better Be Better

Flicks abound
Clicks surround
Surreal notions

You better be better

You better be better

You better be better


You drip with antiquity
Shimmering darkly
Sparkling Flinging
Messages sent

We all just wanted to end up somewhere else.

Essays written
not quiet right
Grammar imperfect.

We all just wanted to end up somewhere else.

Clinging death, clammy so
firmly ensconced
Self denied, self affirmed,
but in ways unintended.

We all just wanted to end up somewhere else.

Anxiety is a sense which senses
entities inexplicable
Blindingly sensible.

We all just wanted to end up somewhere else.

Frequency equals speciality
Surety insures the insanity of us all
flaming into the sunsets of inexplicable

Monday, July 9, 2018

Frequency of Delights

Tiny tenacious intonations.
Inclined, flaming all about.
Exhausting all infusions.

You use me.
You lose me.
Lament me.
Lament me.

Inflamed lips
Ship lines
no international
would ever sell.

You use me.
You lose me.
Lament me.
Lament me.

Fighting on every front.
Effortlessly light.
Less me and effortlessly

Uncanny incantations.
Killer intonations.

Saturday, June 16, 2018

Felicia Tapestry

God's honest truth, her name was Felicia Tapestry.

Her fourth great grandfather was an impoverished thread bare curtain merchant. Since he came from a family which was known for this, the other children called him a serial drapist behind his back.

I'd rather not go into their various deaths. I suspect they also melted ants with magnifying lenses.

I'm a Calvinist. They deserved it.

But I digress...

Her name was Felicia Tapestry.

It was a hot sweaty day, a day I'd rather remember. The meat in the broken down freezer had already melted and smelt of death. The blood had leaked onto my kitchen floor and was surprisingly hard to clean up. Different bloods melt at different temperatures.

That was helpful advice going forward.

Tapestries are such beautiful weaves, interspersed with threads from every hue. Sometimes from simple cotton, sometimes from elegant silk. I prefer raw fabrics rough hewn, like Scottish clothing no one likes to wear, except to avoid freezing to death or starvation.

She was wicked cute, but in that dark serial killer way we all love. You know, like Christina Ricci like, except worse.

She wore her gown with pride, flowing across the floor, glorious in all its splendor. We each called each other fascinating. Yeah, it was THAT kinda romance.

The frame of reference of our romance framed us in ways we dare not share with others. After all, her name was Felicia Tapestry, and she was a death shroud comforting me with hugs. I immediately recognized that she had inherited the realm in her family line, filtering the flinty lilt of hints of bitter shrouds, hovering over us, against the light. Yet the darkness comforts us so. It comforts us so.


Muck and Mire
rarely inspire
except to remind us
of the mud we all share.

Trudging slowly
grindingly so
fighting the elements
like a dream nightmare.

Running but still
paralyzed and flinching
thinking you're inching
towards the eternal

Constantly grasping
but never attaining
gripping yet tight lipped
silently impotent.

Dreamlike maze
never escaping
waiting to awake
but sadly never surprised.

Saturday, June 9, 2018

Approaching 20 Years

I still remember your hair
as you leaned your head
into my shoulder

The smell of your shampoo

Your hair
It was soft and silky
almost black in color

You were fragrant
with wildly beautiful
filled with darkness

Faint hints
of what lurked
behind the curtains
of those eyes
and lips

We each lived
in each other's

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Fine Print

Microscopic inscriptions
listening in
fine print
into law
by my
own blood

Signed in blood today
and every day

Sign your life away

Signed in blood today
and every day

a language
its own

Fucked by lawyers
by nary a lick of
the tongue

Linguistic tricks
sticking it to
us all
by those far too
well paid
to get laid for free

After all
it's all part
the fine print.

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Shoulder Leaned Into

Nestled is how I most think of us
leaning into each other
fascinated by each other
royally engaged entranced
playfully prancing with dignity

Your perfume enflames
my sensibilites
sensing your nearness
shoulder next to your neck
my ear kissing your skin
beneath your ear I far too often
did not kiss

Saturday, May 19, 2018

I Always Wanted to be a Cult Leader

Sliming my mind
twisted untied
tye died tried
curtailed mind
fractured by mines
surety assurances
Fixated on faces
assuring of certainties

Thursday, May 17, 2018

I Buried a Chimney Swallow Today

I buried a chimney swallow today

He hung from the French lace curtains

Talons clung like finger nails

Wings sprung out, hanging low

high above my eyes.

Black and grey before my eyes

hanging, darting in death all across

our campus

Spread winged, hanging from a thread

French lace doors latched

capturing your natural talons

Interlaced, interlinked,

Captured, till death.

I prayed for you as I buried you.

The Azaleas sing your praises.

Wood chips cover you.

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Tattoo'd in Invisible Ink

Scars show in all the most interesting places
Spink, dink, flinked, minks
in faux animal furs
curtailing hairs worn ages ago

Inked in ways I never really understood
Needle in the arm and leg
by assumptions
Impressed by impressions
driven deep
by Life experienced

Sometimes flexibility shows
itself to the sound of flesh
given over to the
ink master.

Saturday, May 12, 2018

Tattle Tale

Many splendored dresses undressed
Expressed by dresses hemmed in by Pleiades
Gazing down from above staring in our
collective naked gaze

Ferrous metals mentally melting
into the solid waste of
who we are

Glittering into the nothingness
of existential reality
flaming out
flaming out
flaming out

Shame, no shame
flame all you want
flame all you want
blame all you want
shame, no shame

Blame you all
not alone but me
alone along the lines
flicking the adulations
and adulturations
maturing, I hope

Loose Knit Straight Jackets

Flexible constraints maintain
wrap around realities and mentalities
S'plainin' explanations

Flailing about
Selling short
everything in our midst

Vision, after all
lost to all
falling to the depths
welcome to the Mall

Fabric of my existence
cotton of lies
truth be told
hold my arms
in lock step

invisible to me
so ubiquitous
split like light

Blind visionaries
guide my path
touching me
all along the
graveling path

Deprivation sensory
blind spots
unknown even to me

Holes In My Socks

You drive the rockets right through me
Firestorm stinging
Intellectual fuckstorms entertaining
Every possible Extentiality

Music to my ears nears by
as the chorus screams
from every corner of my mind

There's no whisper here
There's no whisper here
There's no whisper here

Hinter and lo
the song sings
I never forgave you
Hidden, I yet find you
Afraid, so alone.

Sadness, yet so alive.

Saturday, May 5, 2018


We fired the gas into the refugee camp

To kill them all and erase their memories.

Then we sent the prisoners to bury them

So that they would die too

Erasing them as well.

Then we sent the soldiers

To dig their graves

And their own.

Then we appointed the judges

to adjudicate them all.

Saturday, April 28, 2018


Smoldering ruins is all I see all around. The smell is acrid, full of the stench of death. It exhilarates me to no end. By it I know I have life. We have hope for the future.

The year is unknown. The planet seems to be earth, but it's hard to tell from our perspective, being as we're so close to the ground against these old giants which once ruled our land.

Our shells are hard as the chrystaline stones we walk upon, but our insides, liquid to the core, pure in fact, cannot be touched by any outside force, no matter how large and seemingly powerful. We are purity itself, hidden in our shell.

The gods are instrumental and deliriously figurative for us all. This land is ours for now.

Shit. They have a bigger weapon than us again. Back to the research lab! Build them bigger and smaller till we erase them all from the face of this ground. They look nothing like us. Any similarity is purely accidental.

We must do everything in our power to gather the remains of their day so that we can survive beyond these small days.

God is ONLY like us. He has six legs and has omniscient antennae. Thus we mustn't ever be confused about God's nature.

Devouring the remains of the dead is essential to our well being, just so long as it's not among our own.

But the dead among our own count too. The dead always serve the purposes of the living.

After all, we must live.

Feedback Machine

I'm tired of the sugar
I need the salt
Filling my acrid tongue

Filter it down till I can understand

Filter it down till I can understand

Filter it down till I can understand

Blessed are the poor until you get rich
I've seen her type on the side of the road before
Piece of shit begging for her life
She's pregnant with who knows what
Hospital wrist band still on her hand
as I hand her a twenty dollar bill
with assuage in my death like grasp

Hello Jesus on the side of the road.


Slipping my wrists
into the slits of your soul
Awakens me to the pain
of borrowed time

Slamming doors awaken me
to all of your days of old
Always trying to forget
the stamps of my own

Splicing the dice
until we both rolled
our lives away

Splicing the dice
until we both rolled
our lives away

Playing for keeps

Blinded Visionaries

Blinded visionaries
seeking perceptions
Lids hanging low
by sights too hard to see
Freed by the weigh
of a thousand burdens

Poet Tree

You helped me to plant a garden of words
in the soil of my life
Seedlings of laughter and pain
sprinkled across my soiled soul
into the dried cracks soon
to be rained upon by droplets
of love and hate interspersed
with silent embraces with dripping
sarcasm filling the chasm
which sometimes stood silently
between us

Weeds sprout there too
but sometimes even they have flowers