I hurt when I see you, a mad combination of anger and pride. Selfish and shallow, Tear-filled and callow. So glad you’re doing well; I know you wallowed for awhile, as indeterminate as I. Now, you’re bouncing, a supercharged rubber … Continue reading Hurt (happy when I see you). A poem.
Have I forgotten who I am? Not when every turgid thought drags the ocean bottom, the silt clouding my mind with all the pain I wrought. Not when my perpetual aching heart is torn in two with every memory of … Continue reading Unforgiven. A poem.
I have spoken long with you so many, many times, each airy conversation measuring low on a Richter scale that never rises much beyond the surface— no evidence of my success just artful whimsy it never shakes your earth. Just … Continue reading Quake. A poem.
A curio of times past, rolling around a sea of fingers and palm, undulating on currents of virtual memory and static electricity. Tactile and fertile, like an ex-lover with time to kill and an ever-present urge to explore old avenues. … Continue reading Curio. A poem.
I was so into you— every thought, every move, was a riot of ecstasy that shook me to my core. More than destiny, more than waking dreams or midnight fantasies. You were the bottle and I was the alcoholic reaching … Continue reading Intoxicated. A poem.
My love for you is bottomless without end infinite it is sunbeams and moonbeams and cluttered thoughts laughter and pain you are my sun and my moon and all the cliches in between and while your light shines I will … Continue reading My Son My Sun. A poem.
Am I mad and destitute on this anxious road to success? Or am I lost and found again in artless vanity and regret? Is this path I walk alone of the living and the dead? Or a marathon that leads … Continue reading Tonight. A poem.
Dance on my grave OnE sTeP, tWo StEp, ThReE sTeP, fOuR Pat it down and into place OnE sTeP, tWo StEp, ThReE sTeP, fOuR Celebrate the death of me OnE sTeP, tWo StEp, ThReE sTeP, fOuR Now you’re done, wash … Continue reading Dirty Dancing. A poem.
Remember that poetry e-book I released a year ago? Yeah, I thought not. The All or the Nothing is a book I’m very proud of, but it’s only sold a few copies so it’s safe to say my grand dream … Continue reading The Real Book. A tale of two formats.
What is this morbid fascination I have with the prospect of my own uncertain and certain demise? It reeks of gentle desperation, a perfidious need to know the outcome of a life lived in unconscious and conscious vigilance. No hangman’s … Continue reading This Morbid Fascination. A poem.
The thinking mind is such a pain. But wondering isn’t much to gain, and wandering round in there, you see, gets one lost in pointless reverie. I want to arrest those layabout thoughts loitering on my old street corners, take … Continue reading Spring Clean. A poem.
When all the lonely drifters are sleeping … Continue reading Drifter. A poem.
Why do you still plague me, so? To inhabit me like a parasite, gouging out my pale insides? Churning up my hopeless dreams like milk into aromatic cheese, to accompany sides and crackers, all the pieces left of me. I … Continue reading Plague. A poem.
The wash of highlights on your face illuminates more than worry in your eyes. The antecedent calls you back to an enigma, cold-cast in lies, a veil that gently mocks and knocks upon an antiquated door, whose wood-rotted timbers hide … Continue reading The Risk. A poem.
‘A poor man gathers no moss’, to coin a phrase. Okay, that’s probably a bit stupid, but hopefully it got your attention. For those of you who’ve read my bio or have been following my blog for a while, you’ll … Continue reading Moss-less, or begging ain’t so bad…
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