The nebulous lines have grown blurry
as a mouth-blown glass window to a cold heart

From the dark you've drawn me out ―
I'm coming back from the dead;
my soul is coming out of my skin

No one ever hears the voices fallen silent
trying to catch the wind from their last breath
As if you couldn't see me standing here alone,
parsing love with sullied heart on broken wing

Feeling the ache in the cold wind breathe;
watching a lonely world dying here of thirst
It's alright if you never loved me,
at least not unconditionally

I picked up a lone wild feather just laying there
and thought of you,   touching the distantness
of a sky so far away

And, like a bird with a wounded wing,
you must somehow find the strength to fly

October rivers ... 2017

A silenced musician's lament ... the 5 year aftermath of a broken wing

  The guitar cases stand
like dusty books on the shelf;
befallen dominoes tilted
against the backroom wall

   Tone-poems hidden
  in broken heart cages
    within an unwound
      music box latent

Malted memories stained
on flattop dreadnought cutaways;
whiskey and tears spilled
in vintage f hole tonewoods,
    idle sweat smudged
  fret-boards suspended

  Archtop unwaxed axes
  chopless silent refrain;
   heartwood timbre
turned stone cold silent

    A dusty six sting poet
lost somewhere unspoken,
braving the untamed wilderness
       of a restless soul

blue rivers ... Friday the 13th, 2017

If you've ever lost a defining, very important piece of yourself
finally finding the strength to accept the things we cannot change is a difficult journey forward;  know & understand the magnitude of a moment can change everything, but NEVER believe the dream is over:
'a lonely bird without a song'

Native in the hearts of your children you are.
Embedded deeply in their soil, spawning fertile seeds only to bid farewell too soon.
Your roots firmly rooted,
solidifying your solid stance. Imprinted your features in all of us, all just sketches of the you you used to be.
They tell tales of an antique casanova who once was,
a man who loved dearly for an eternity that lasted a few heartbeats.
I used to draw you in the margins of my notepad,
pretending I remembered more than your smile.
But I was fond of the man who took part in my creation,
the man whose name I carry with pride,
the man who gave me a family,
the man my mother fell for.
Words I never uttered come close to mind,
I'd mean them if I said them out loud.
But here, among bent, wilting trees you lay, forever.
We're standing on the ground reserved for souls bygone, transfusing memories of you in one beautiful picture.

We love you,
I love you

Here's to you, father.



Is zero a number?
Is numb a feeling?
Is comatose slumber?
Is sleep now healing?

Is why a question?
Is try a verb?
When you can't shake
The booze and herb?

Is static music?
Is silence screaming?
Is nighttime cursed...

is daytime dreaming?

Rewrite (c) 5/12/2015
Written 2014

For those battling addiction...

It's not something you "give up"
It's something you LET GO.


I wrote you a love note
It said too much of me,
I set it aflame.


So exhausting this longing

curling up like bad milk on the top of my days,

restless soul when it sneaks in my dreams

and it digs, and it sifts

and it screams

for a something that stays

and scratches and lifts

a burning itch in my heart-

So exhausting this longing

flaring up like a fever all alone late in nights

when it tosses and turns

while it scorches and incites

all the wishes and wants

for a something that burns-

So exhausting this longing

stuck like glue to the thoughts in my mind

and it whispers and pleads

for a something to find-


“…There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad.”
― Homer, The Iliad



There is something about skin to skin

that intoxicates and dull my senses,

the exquisite feel of sweat and oil

between the tightness of two bodies

that glide across with legs uncoil

in rubbing back and forth desires-

There is something that consumes my mind

her rounded back which makes me flushed

with lust and wants, and my body tenses

amid the moans when holding strong

skin to skin, my fingers rushed

between her thighs the pleasure find

and lost become where I belong,

skin to skin-


“There is a perfection in everything that cannot be owned.”
― Anaïs Nin, Delta of Venus

(found this one laying around)


If I dance with my fingers

across your beautiful belly

and entertain my desire

in this passion that lingers,

could I kiss the secret place

outlined by silk and lace?

Oh how I wish to explore

with my lips quench a fire

that consumes to the core,

if unknown to your skin

let me go with my fingers

where I have never been.


“With skin dressed only in moonlight, she beckons you to her secret garden.”
― John Mark Green

Sometimes I miss my dogs paws
With just cause
In running dreams
Relived scenes
As they slept amongst the stars
Yipped at the full moon in backyards
On trails at daybreak
First light behind the night makes
The instincts sharp
I long for one last bark

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