you know the first time
that you go home after
you've finally cut
the 20-something year old
cord, and you
sit at the dinner table like
always, in the same seat
you've sat in since you
left your high chair, and
dad's made turkey enchiladas,
and you're reaching for
the hot sauce, and then
just as he grabs it to hand
it to you, you notice it first
in the age spots, and then
you follow it to the white
in his beard, and then it's
all written in his deep set eyes,
and his crows feet, and his
cheek bones that seem to
stick out more than ever
and you can't seem to
peel your eyes away
from the man you've known
since birth, even though
you could paint his
face with your eyes closed,
or at least his face the
way you still see it when
you have your
eyes closed

dad, when did you get old?

i don’t want to love you
anymore
i’d rather love books
and words
and the sea
when it rages
i’d rather love
adventure and
late nights
filled with smiles

i don’t want to hide
anymore
i’d rather fly
to a far away mountain
and scream
at the top of
a blue peak
i’d rather explode
with virtue
like a light—
a star
who has met
it’s end

i don’t want to love you
anymore
i don’t want
the sun to fall
i don’t want
my coffee to go cold
or my cigarettes
to wage war
on my lungs
but there’s little to do
when the universe
twists
in it’s inevitable ways

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings"*

Here stands a city,
stretching as far as
the east is from the west.
Dark and deep is the night
on the streets lined
with desolate lamp posts
which once ago held
light
to those who walked
to a place they called
home.

The moon beams
pierce apathetic clouds
and cast a milky
gleam
onto a decaying brick wall
overspread with faded Krylon.

Situated next to a broken
window
upon the crumbling clay and mortar
is scrawled a message:

"Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

A shattered visage lies
cold and numb.
A man once dominant and
inspiring
now is decomposing
in the ratways of his once
gleaming
empire.

The spray paint can rolls
from upon his fingertips
and his faint whisper
is as fleeting as a
morning breeze.

"That's not what
I meant at all.  That's
not what I meant
at all. that's not
what i meant at all
thats not
what i meant at
all what i meant
not at all..."

i curse my nightmares
for stealing away precious moments
that could better be spent
     dreaming of you

The more you know
The more you dont
The more you do
The more you won't

The less you care
The less you hate
The less you love
The less you take

The more you speak
The less you say
The more you leave
The less you stay

The less you read
The more you see
The less you need
The more you succeed

And more is less
And less is more
And more or less
The moral is
                      nothing

You swallowed
And I swear I went down
Your throat

You gulped
And I swear you guzzled
Me up

You drank
And I swear every drop
Of me

You quit
And you swore to God,
To me

You relapsed
And I swear I’m trapped in
Your bottle

found a lost birds scream
awakened from a dream
of lost red spiders and
autumn sun riders

clinging to walls of
wood, steel and laws
searching for calls of
redemption and flaws

bewinged I take air
in utter despair
lifted by childhood memories

like a red burning flare
I tenderly care
for the emptiness draped deep within us