The Father

I said I’d like to fly,

but he taught me to love, so I started to soar,

and the sea was spread like buttercream,

a warm pale yellow, crisp and rosy at the horizon,

I told him I was afraid, and he let me go ephemerally,

because he knew,

that the moment I’d been released,

I would realize the breadth of my need,

and come drifting back into that slumber spirit,

I didn’t remember who I was for quite some time,

it was hard to focus on the reality of me,

the me I wanted to be,

humble and contrite,

yet powerful and prepared,

tools were imparted to me in my youth,

but I tried to hammer things with them,

foiled their true intent,

crushed my lover’s heart upon an anvil,

a place of ice and despair,

she begged for a respite,

but I pinned her there with the weight of my hatred,

and martyred her,

what I did with my dove,

then one day,

as I was bleating out again,

I wallowed in my sorrows,

remembered then I one true friend,

the jovial one,

the one with peace written on his brow,

I’d forgotten his name,

like a schizophrenic bull,

he’d yelled out “toro!”

as I ran the other way,

but on this day I came back,

having grown weary and destitute,

I had spoken first to God,

and He spoke to me in kind,

so I asked my friend to teach me how to breathe,

his smile a little wry,

he cinched his lasso on the saddle and paddled out to sea,

I stood there wading desperately,

blades were in my shoulder,

he spoke of truth and winds in cells,

he blew into my ear,

ascending I as if to climb,

I said I’d like to fly.



Moon Base

Tranquility is watching pale green tidal waves lap at the beach,

beige and white crusted sand itching to be pressed between my toes,

wetsuits wading into the water,

mirth of babies splashing at the edge,

peace is easy to find,

might even remember who you are,

if you just take a short walk,

beside the pier,

under the sun,

and above all else,

aside from the drama.



obfuscation is the art of hiding yourself within a cloak of mindful shadows,

you are drear to me, though dear indeed,

because I am pure, even when you are not near,

paleontology has me digging for you deep,

Rembrandts and Leonardos could neither impugn nor exonerate your mind games,

with descriptives, permissives and dismissive postures,

postulate with me the veracity of your undying troves of treasure;

will to be exposed and free,

exhale me, exiled see,

catholic brief,

Napoleonic serf of feudal grief,

dreams about the wanderer, roustabout thief.



I’m doing better than you are, and I’m not well.

what I gave to you was never free and yet you’re not privy to the cost,

and if you knew my name, if you could see my face,

the real me, you know, that guy I presented to you,

the one that was crying, the one that begged you to hold his hand,

gotta wonder who was really taken advantage of here…

they may very well call me shallow,

but they lack the twain to mark my fathoms,

and can’t as yet articulate their own debacles,

just dry yourself off,

with my wounds pouring blood over you,

be grateful and dry your eyes,

for I am nothing but mnemosyne and passing deftly moments ,

and your pages cannot as yet contain me,

but, to be fair, I crushed myself on your salient and unscrupulous edges,

I did indeed volunteer my self your painted fists,

to mar my face,

to bar the passage of my serenity,

arise you and awaken corridors not yet travelled thereupon,

make your way swift and brutal,

and if you should choose to sink your teeth into me,

try the tender places,

and speak aloud,

for none knows your voice as well as I,

visions know not the capacity of my tongue upon you,

but know you not the discrepancies between I and they,

for they are lost without you, but I (well frankly darling), I can most certainly do without.


Your eyes drive madness into me,

soul so deep, I might plunge to find the depth of the ravine,

and tumble off boulders, alit and broken here and there,

arms and legs flailing in the air,

hair turned back and smiling without a care,

but I sink a deep breath of you,

breaks my lungs, cloven in two,

your heartscape splayed before my presence,

cascading and trembling I hold you tight against my breast,

ask myself “can I withstand this test?”

or am I pressing toward oblivion,

cancer in my hand, and on my lips,

exhale, exhilarated I step back for a moment,

early morning hours find me carrying you,

find you carrying me,

as though just a stick figure, in the palm of your hand,

and they ask me what time it is?

I say it’s now and flick an ash or two,

sultry frozen ember piles out billows from my face,

wonder why I don’t dream these days,

seems somewhat ominous this ether… clouds my mind with delusions of what might be,

am I making plans or just a wayfarer ducking the underpasses,

pavement on my feet, kisses wounded heels,

and all that is within me yet congeals,

like a hurricane tumultuous,

lets me dwindle outright,

and I stand in the eye,

hold your hand as you walk by,

and let go.



Last breath was miles ago,

it left me when my heart

walked away in the deep

cool night,

looked back at me forlorn

and haplessly dejected-

accusing me of careless



as if I didn’t mind the billows

of tears and blood pouring

out of me with this last loss,

oh but I was quite heartless

then I suppose,

grasping at emotion; a

hollow golem whispering

with no cadence nor voice,

it was much too late- that

spell and dark voodoo

would take their toll,

come hell or high water;

preferring the former,


there were no stars to glint

or wink, no heavenly bodies

to pierce the stale fog,

only bickering shadows

where the corpses of dreams

lie buried,

something else had died

there recently- it’s pale

yellow stench gripping my

mind as if I were not yet

battered enough on this

soggy moor,


as it were a respite,

I was blinded by my

lacrimation- it’s brine

stinging the corners of my

dried and peeling lips,

drifting furls of remembrance

fell from my nose and cheek

as the daze of asphyxiation

overcame my grief with

the promise of mortality

which came and went with

that last whimpering gasp.


in the silence, in the

solitude I fell for an eternity

as my vision blurred pink

then red and finally a deep

burgundy – face on the

pavement as if trying to carve

a rut or a fox hole… some

niche in which to hide.

eyelids clasped down

with the new found agony

– still without so much as a sigh,

I could smell a waft of my own

decay for a moment, amidst

those other gnarly pale

wisps prodding my senses.

they didn’t care whether

my lungs had collapsed- they

would press into me and

relish my torment,


it was then that I was

finally released, like a

rabid dog or worthless


and darkness, as always, was

my keeper- my foe wry and

delighted bent over my

soul like a mime specter,

pasty white and crooked

twig like fingers on hands

with no arms buried me

where meal worms


I faded away more

obscure than ever and

emptiness with it’s

infinite quiver bore

me into oblivion.


You’re on my mind like a neural juggernaut,

a wet sheet of paper on smooth poreless glass,

you are in my head; I’m disturbed at the thought,

a stain on my brain, such a cumbersome lass,

and rinse don’t exist that could get rid of this,

not a writ nor a verse that could undermine the curse,

to be sure I’m not certain if it’s you that I miss,

cause the way that I feel when you’re near is much worse,

but the pant in my throat and the hunger in my tongue,

the pain in my heart and the ache in its hide,

as I lack most of you; save the stinger when you stung,

how you twist when you rend as a blade in my side,

now the thing I’m without isn’t you nor yet me,

but the way that I felt when I slumbered in that dream,

by the sun or by night all the things that will be,

carry me to a fate and support like a beam,

showing off the difference when they’re seen from a distance,

are mistakes that I’ve made; imagine that, purposeful,

and you can cast all your stones while you’re standing on the fence,

but I’ll leave mine where they lie, cause I’m not that kind of tool.