Text 24 Aug your hope

bearing naked threads
barring helpless heads
i requite to you appeals
in lieu of partings said
simple minds; in simple patterns
paternally i plead
we’re all just fools of sparring tools
and sharpening eyes that cut the ties of lies
that makes the spirit want to cut itself
and, if only in principle, i plead
presenting present presence and furnishing that light
i need to see. 

Text 2 Jun listen

she sings in careful ambiance
fragrant and smooth
soothing madness for once
mountains mist and i rain
smelling petrichor and coffee
so honest so plain
there are so many voices
and how many of those voices
are heard as voices. just voices
singing the only thing real
how many expose an uncostumed chest
exposing vane veins; naked abreast
a humble show-and-tell with nothing to sell
but a song and the smell
of petrichor and coffee

Text 19 Apr Now- by NOMEANSNO

Now, if I had the courage

I’d pour into your jar

all the things that I have heard you whisper in the dark

And when that jar was heavy

with your honeyed confidence

I’d put it to my lips and dink it’s meaning and it’s sense

It has no end

so let’s pretend it’s Now, let’s get started


Nothing could be plainer

than the things that have been done

and there can be no mystery in what is yet to come

It’s Now that howls at nothing

It’s Now that runs and hides

It’s Now that winds it’s spineless coils and slithers out of sight

Your cries above the furrow drive my fingers like a plow

through tattered ends

that twist and bend

above the Here and Now

The Here is blind and helpless

it strives against the dark

The Now’s the well shadows where the world has come apart

It has

It’s Now.

Let’s get started


There is precious little that escapes the powers that be 

The eyes that judge the words that form our meager histories

But when your flood surrounds me 

When the waters burst and come

Who knows the things that I have felt

Who knows what I have done

And if I had the courage

I’d pour into your jar

all the things that I have heard you whisper in the dark

And when that jar was heavy

with your honeyed confidence

I’d put it to my lips and dink it’s meaning and it’s sense










note: i did not write this, but this song has informed the way i live my life. NOMEANSNO writes, what i feel, are some of the most profound lyrics i have ever heard in my life. to this day i still think that this is one greatest songs ever written.

Text 17 Apr observation

so, i’ve noted that i use the word “shadow” a lot in my writing.

… i like shadows.

Text 18 Mar black

when the lights go out and the room is dark

still awake but holding, breathing, resigning to the lark

all bottle’s empty and tears run dry

smelling foul air and still remnant lie, shadow hands caress your favor

sight returns to dark and shadowed rooms, efforts no longer labor

blind-will follows echo to the plume

unseen unseeing lips grace yours to trip and fall to rip softly squozen rain

to knell and dance lone praises even evening lazes with lost and drifting crazes

greeting sole companions, repeating appealing calls 

as lengthy onward familiar blind clarity knows, and warm will find you back

as lengthy onward familiar blind-clarity knows, and warm will find you back

when holding-hopes turn to black, when hope turns black

Text 5 Feb riding out the tide

scattered illusion sea i sail carpet monster riding railing rolling with the gale where winding winds wind me up so too there shall i go  far and far they guide as they fury all the more

Text 11 Oct Words

words cannot know

what would a word say if they did?

what do words know of my fear
my loathing?
my pains?
how do they know how to describe what keeps me awake at night?

there are no words
there simply aren’t enough well defined marks in vernacular                   
to describe.

will is indeed in deed    
actions are story enough
in act my poetry is writ
                    a script
wrought with written wells of ink beneath a breadth of words
that still call me to tell.
                  …to story.

but, what do words know?

all that can be known

slyly slightly weights what’s shown
                         and words tip nothing
                                   not head, heat, or hat    

the concrete truth of it
       the bare concrete burden
             is that no one can ever
                     see what keeps me awake at night   
the shadows, the fear, the blood wrenching terror.

   words don’t know how to do that.

and how about you?
can words aptly paint pretty picture for you?
do they swell to paint your conversations swell so well that you might as well never leave home?

how about the porn star?
can he describe what he sees?
can he describe how the eyes of the not-a-lover in front of him
makes him feel?
what would you think of him if he were to describe
how her eyes remind him of mother
then, what would you think when you found out that he tried desperately to remember his boyfriend’s face while spewing lewd onto hers?

words do not paint
words do not know how to paint
they do not see, or feel, or carve, or breathe
                                        they only sing   

twisting nuances out of color and shape
making perverse verse, vain vein exposing vane exposition
spoiling sight on the spot

I can’t paint you a picture
I don’t have any words that know how to do that

I can only describe.

And how can I describe what I can’t see?

Text 3 Oct Wreckage

ten times a lover

ten times the lie

ten times a tapping

rap rap rapping

and she’s liking my nimble fingers while i’m on my knees laughing

i could never know exactly what she means

by ‘lover’

lost and afraid i found her finding terrified and lonely

but it was there that our hands met in the dark

cigarette smoke filled the air and smiles exchanged

"can i buy you a drink?"

watch listless and sullen as our eyes met on the surface of reflecting portals of escape. seeking the refuge of being cast but never on stage.

our eyes met in reflections hiding in scented fog. never losing sight of one another’s forward glance as we crept closer, staring at the wall.

how neither of us stumbled is still a mystery. navigation is key, always the key.

moving closer until mere inches apart.

laughing at overheard sentiment of desperate dishonest dreams distant distilled in spry spirits.

"can i buy you a drink?"

"have you met my friend?"

"i have one just like that!"

watching desperate reflections of the lonely on bar-walled glass dreams dripping decorating shelves behind those reflections. our eyes would meet and we would smile. an entire conversation had through glass.

dropping in on dripping crippling eaves. our spirits distilled, refined, entwined by dry emotion.

mocking inebriation, never looking direct, but one never losing sight of the other.

who needs drunk when longing is impairing enough as it is, and ensnaring enough to make graves? who needs inebriated navigation?

cowards. all of them.

i prefer to a see an oncoming collision head-on. and so does she. we decided to stop rubbernecking and collide ourselves.

ten times the lover

ten times the lie

we’d start rap rap rapping

and be licking distilled dripping duel digits in due time.

but first those creeping agents of fate, would meet, have to meet, in the dark. and there our hands seek meeting and creep discretely to greet in the dark. as dim bar glass glances never broke and were affixed amidst cigaretted fog.

tap tap tap

she really was ten times greater than the dream, a non-accidental collision. no exchanging insurance… i didn’t even catch her name.

Text 25 Jul A simple little truth

All the best men know how to cry, and all the best women know how to make them.

Text 16 Jul Unknown Stone

i imagine

being lost imagining what could have been

or painting pictures of old landscapes with brighter color than what nature had provided

on the short lived walls made of cardboard found in a trash heap

never learning to swim, to kick furious feet, or to hold desperate breath

walking away to escape the rest in circles fearful of daring to darling in with them

having foreknowledge of how they nip at the toes with their teeth

or sometimes at the neck if they can reach it

oh how they are quick to extend a smile with knifes, or instead apply them to turned backs

bearing the scars of trust, standing alone and trusting the fear of jumping in

ever trusting the shadow-lain secrets of life lived by tailor-torn brothers and mothers

offering shelter to fellow dwelling survivors of painted cardboard walls

a refuse refuge to in whatever makeshift shelter self-fastened and

crafted by ever longing hands guided by dusty eyes

a simple matter of candlelight before they tare at the walls of well-meaning wishes

left longing and tearing alone in dark corners unseen and dreaming of the time never spent

embracing shadow lovers

kissing untouched lips

spilling unseen blood

and walking a well charted path pacing around what could have been

time is the fate for them that believe in better days reached without painting the road

those that stand waiting and watching and walking in circles away on dry land

keeping shadow secrets of those who’ve sought shelter in those walls of well meaning wishes

and none of those wishes belonging to the hands that had crafted them

trusting fear that they will be torn down by extended smiling mouths

that tell earnest tales of their own furious feet and their own time lost

twisting and slow through the gallows of all man’s sleep, finishing the way it started

trusting the fear and imagining what could have been

the final stone-etching bearing that most disgraceful of sentences

"we loved them"

these three words i read as i sat pondering who it was that painted these walls in the first place

and who would leave a headstone indoors never to see the sky or to feel the rain, wind, or sun.

pacing in circles, never painting the walls of their own vision

but painting the many dreams left told by passerby survivors

who may have picked and tore at the dreams of others, but would never betray the candlelight

i sit

eye twitching at the beat and the rhythm of angry neighbors pounding on those walls

as i stare at that engraving







if it breathed it would do well enough

but confined here it can be seen for the lie that it is

and so i leave this place knife in hand to suffer the weather

and swimming to suffer too those lidless eyes mounted atop cheshire teeth

if i have to stab anyone i WILL leave them scars

but their scars will be on the belly, chest, or throat. and never on an extend a smile

and if i ever paint on trash heap cardboard walls i will use my own dream to do it

with but few colors brighter than that which nature had intended

however it goes, wherever i find myself

i’ll be damned if i sleep here

in someone else’s borrowed xenophobic dreams

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