I'm not fond of it - too quiet, too observant. You always telling me to shut up and observe, Maestro. Shut up. You at least have arms to clean the atelier when you annoy me. How does one punish this? Unplug it, perhaps? That's murder! Oh. Well, give it a brush - let's give it … Continue reading In a Cluttered Atelier
Phones are heavy,With empty names,Endless text chains,Binding me to this moment - Etched in stone -Frozen in time -Burned into my soul - So that pitiful message,From ten years ago,Lies in youthful hope, unread.
Freezing rain falling,Cutting through this knit muffler,Wrapped around my head,Whenever I sigh through it,I thank you for your present.
Her toes curled in her damp socks, drying in front of the little space heater beneath her desk. A cup of coffee-milk (to call it milk-coffee was to stretch towards fantasy) moved around her face: first to her left cheek, then her forehead, over to the right cheek, her lips, and then back again in … Continue reading Settling in with the Setting Sun
I wish I forgave you your faults,And perhaps been more aware of mine,But I'm a coward,And left you behind,So this poem has no purpose,Just a reminder that I fucked up,And the fault was entirely mine.
Once, we took our pens to cut our throats,Spill our blood onto the kitchen tile,So that we could write poetry with our toes,And allow us the chance to finally be free,That we might die die die to feel alive. But publicity makes all of us turncoats,And all those stupid posts've gone viral,As it starts isn't … Continue reading No Partnership Survives Fame
The engine turned over at last, proceeded by a hoarse round of cheers. The New Year had come and gone huddled in the back of the old Honda, a burbling hookah and a crushed pack of old cigarettes (Quit smoking or quit buying, eh?) our only source of warmth. Our passing savior and her oversized … Continue reading To Nowhere and Back
A friend in need is,Still a friend indeed,And I need a friend.
I believe that I have developed an odd sensibility about men and women, at least as I depict them in my poetry. I suppose I could track this arrested notion to my interactions with my mother, but I would rather not open myself up to Oedipal comparisons, so let's assume this mild distortion was formulated … Continue reading Remember When We Were
I struggle to understand people, that’s not poetry, it’s a simple fact, My actions are built upon a framework, steps to accomplish a given task, I’m not a robot, I’m just focused, But when others act without purpose, I confess to feeling robotic and my understanding less than earnest. For example, I have an old … Continue reading Conversations Online