Tuesday, July 28, 2020

Juvenile Poem

Hyperbole: I'm dying. Untouched,
stubborn to the dullness
that is waking up
to only regrets at my side,
now familiar bedfellows

Masturbation without imagination
A meta-like quality:
The star of a NatGeo special
A wild beast pleasures itself
for want of feeling

and I'm unconscious
my brain swelling with nameless want
Bloody Suburbia
A stalker's corpse in the bushes
bored to death

But we are not entertained
Assuming the missionary position
(is the poet not crass by nature?)
for much of our lives
on our backs
waiting for life to take us there

An Open Letter To You

The bereaved Gardener
Etching names into stone
Your face like clay, brown and firm

Two 0 One 9
It's so hard to fall upward
Failing to find myself in the storm

and I think it so cruel
dipping the doll's head in wax
a chipped tooth, a weepy eye

A boring into the earth
the carcass of an oak
limbs strewn about a sea of grass

I've been silent about my intentions
Seeding the soil with lies,
lies, lies, lies, lies, lies...

But worry not-
The sunflowers sprouting from
my chest will still turn in open conversation

The headstone dressed in moss will
speak my name in silent tongues
and I'll watch over you

a promise, this time

Wednesday, February 26, 2020


Embrace the space between us
Familiarize yourself with vacancy
because I’ve checked out.
It wasn’t the bed bugs
moth chewed cream curtains
semen stains on a carpet
the same shade as oatmeal-
It was you.
Just. Don’t.

Thursday, February 20, 2020


Baby brother
with hair like wildfire
eyes of deepest blue
glistening like the surface
of Lake Michigan in Indian summer-
A smile of hidden treasures
buried deep like our mother before us

You learned this early on-
not all that is found yields reward
But count those calluses
the sting of sweat
watch the blood trickle into
the wound slashed into the earth

Baby brother
you remember it well-
a broken chair the kindling to
an arson whose hearth still glows
beneath the charred remains
of a broken home

Baby brother
show me the blisters-
Continue to stand too close
to the fire and you will get burned
But learn to walk away
and only then, will you learn to heal

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

Definition, What a Decision

Listen close, loose change
Hear its tune in your
faded denim pocket

a smiling waistband
hugs your hips

The tone of your skin
cream of mushroom

Your ugly,
all to my appetite


A view of mercy-
admiring her,
now from a distance

I catch a glimpse-
a fleeting future
flashing before my
welling, weary eyes

She has saturated
my senses, she has
my attention wrapped
tight around her limp finger

At her mercy now,
though I fear she has forgotten.
Will my words echo?

Will we love again?

I have began to dig deep into
my patience reserve, so you
don't have to bankrupt your emotions.

Tuesday, September 17, 2019


i held you like
the world was ending
but that couldn’t stop you
from slipping through my fingers 
like sand 
i wish i could bottle 
but you are meant for beaches
sunsets  with the waves 
crashing over you 
if I bottled you
the world would never forgive me