cheesy poem written in 5 min

we didn’t know how poor we were

we didn’t know how unlucky the score

we didn’t know we were made of ice
on a pillar of fire
we didn’t know we were sewn before
we didn’t know every thread bears our core
we didn’t know everyone had seen
how blind our sight
we kept illusions in dreams
amaranthine lies unforeseen
nestled among skeletons
after all the entire time we were sleeping.
the sun sustained our fantasies
souls splayed naked dessicated
dreams better left unrealized
until our holes become greedy for more
realized i’ve been doing this all wrong the entire time:
you have to say what you mean. don’t just say what you don’t mean.
it’s much more difficult to say truth: there is only one truth amid a plenitude of lies.
task is not making people see there is something in nothing; task is to make people see there is nothing in something.
this is the difference between “conning” versus “truth telling”

places i can’t go back to

Crowns whirl gems on the plain long turquoise necklace

Night’s smoke clouds smear black eyes that cradle a russet sun.

Your sun is my star, our spines weave us together.

I lounge in our swamp and watch my life from afar.

plaster moon drops fall onto morning’s red-pink shoes

as they step on the fading walkaway blue.


running with ghost voices made of cardboard, carrying yesterday’s sand castle crimes inside sighs

childhood folded within letters, trash, mud, aluminum cans,

so pretty, those homecoming queen cigarette backyard schemes.

sired of the beach bonfire, could I just be another dead devil with sharp teeth?

my own silver god with a hungry look and spectral eyes. a family resemblance.

unable to return to a home that was never home.

a dumb question

a question mark is two wounds: a curve and a dot with a space between, concealed glistening sharp

i’ve learned plenty of useless things from living as a black pool marked on the page.

i tried to cover the pool with my body sleeping, breathing unremarkably, atop the thoughts unslaked.

to love the world the way god loves it, i must transform into a silver quarter and live inside a wishing fountain.

as foolish as that might be, i want to want whatever you have to give.

i want to be a simple rhyme that lulls a beast to sleep, suckling on a sleep without dreams.

sometimes i want nothing but to warm myself inside the dark flower eye that grows

but then i envy other people and must enjoy being a body,

improbable as existence is, as shimmering as space, as undefined as time, as little as I will ever be and as much goes unredeemed. must say what i mean even if i’m unrefined.

even if i miss you i must be contained and still and ready to forget everything i learned.

when imagined loves flit in and out of my mind, I am full of romantic notions,

cliches unable to surpass the black mesh of my mind, endlessly circling and unraveling.













love inside of war

(an over-processed poem)

Prisoner of a golden no-more war morning.

My tongue  and my heart one of a kind, a bitter pulp pink grapefruit I drop onto your floor.

Harmony misaligned, fresh fruit sliced by a hand divine.

My joy in a throat for treatments, prescriptions,

soul deletions of intricate design.

I’d live in your city of red dirt indian bones,

jump on our graves and guard every escape with zeal. To the bones my loyalty erodes.

Until i’m breathing out pale tumors and smoke like coca-cola girls for surgery, I’d worship your radiation splatters.

I’d stand in a koan to be touched by hands that know the ocean.

In the thudding beat inside your chest,  I’d hear love inside of war.

no charity at the party no.2

no charity at the party. I step outside and begin walking down a long road.

in a ditch I find an unseen queen nestled in her snake shrine, hissing at the purple sky.

her copper-red servants deliver a message about a stranger’s war and his beautiful torch

an explosion of gummy bear blood inside my brain.

in this shimmering space, acetone smells like lost love, pure and clean.

no secrets in our eyes, they don’t promise eternity in pale sheets. give enough fire and light to free the angel-dusted within-me shapes.

So I walk back to the evening crew, but their eyes tell me I’m a tool for sitting there, I’ve been gone too long and now I might as well disappear. 

the woman with a golden head saunters over and whispers in my ear we are all discarded and disgraced, every hole is a joke, every meaning a tease.

castigations all flirtations, retreat into her long hair until it’s time to leave.