take my fears and

place them by

the river bed


--if you can--


swim near the shore

and hold my head

above water so

I can see land,

only then

will I believe

what’s in

store ahead.

There are

    leaves on the ground.

There are

    few in the trees—

    that hung on during winter;

    that will be the first to go

    come October.

Dear the softhearted:
Sympathy won’t come.
Mourn this day
and drink its poison,
leave the ones disembodied
to haunt and garrotte.

Dear the kindhearted:
Forgiveness won’t come.
Stand thin, bloodless.
Who’s waiting at home for you?

Dear the softhearted:
Sympathy won’t come.
Mourn this day
and drink its poison,
leave the ones disembodied
to haunt and garrotte.

Dear the kindhearted:
Forgiveness won’t come.
Stand thin, bloodless.
Who’s waiting at home for you?

A neon glow,

a flourencent daze,

a shine of the sun’s rays upon a rose display.

The shade felt from a midnight ****,

or from fire around tiki poles

in a field.



Some say it’s a recognized face

that makes one feel home.

But it’s a familiar light

that makes us

feel welcome.

Many are lost songs

dispersed in forests,

locked behind logs.

The keys were thrown

with penny-ful wishes.

Left me on sharp stones
fighting white caps in the ocean,
saying goodbye with our eyes.

Skin cut,
reading rulebooks.
This is heat this current leads,
and my hunger eats away at my hope of finding—

One of those small islands
(not able to be found on maps)
just to get away from the water
and sleep and tell what I’ve been travelling for,
‘cause I’ve been traveling for awhile now.

One match—
starting a fire
to thoughts and ideas
spreading in circles
attaching to everything
other people catching wind to it;
from the mountains
and the lowlands
it is seen.

We have time on our youth,
inches on our throat.
We have cleaned for years.

We swell to cry,
this does not fix us.

Flatter our unsoiled volitions!
Gorge our empty stomachs—
Martinet, our Big Brother!

We have cleaned for years.
“Clean til I say—
Satisfied.”

Fought a quiet rebellion
and never raised fists;
I tried to be
a good southern boy.

Choices caved my left breast
and spread to the legs;
Oh they ache!
Mom, will you—
rub them for me?
I want to sleep
well for once.

We have time on our youth,
inches on our throat.
We have cleaned for years.

We swell to cry,
this does not fix us.

Flatter our unsoiled volitions!
Gorge our empty stomachs—
Martinet, our Big Brother!

We have cleaned for years.
“Clean til I say—
Satisfied.”

I am a mountain.
From where I stand—
this air,
these heavens,
are mine.

Warmth may you leave your footprints
bold in the snow
or a sunny glow showing
often for me to see
the kind days before this,
this cold winter entered.
Promising a ruby sun awaits us
this spring and summer.
Let this cold winter,
this cold winter wither.

I’ve been dreaming of moments—
an ache for common love.
I want you to
wake me by your
quietness at a still,
and set in motion
every red affair in my body.

A belief our souls continue
together,
yes,
I’ll never fear death.
But I won’t ask sameness to you,
I cannot brave—
no.

Through the window—
the leaves set,
the redness sets,
but a heart will never set looking through it.

Through the window—
painted pictures
with the faintest reflections,
but still enough to catch the eye.

Through the window—
are lives surreal
hoping to never see the truth,
but what would forgiveness mean then?

Through the window—
a long to feel,
to touch,
but your hand will break at the reach.

To the dreamer’s mind,
existence is only through the window.
To my own mind,
love makes me sad.

There’s an eagle hanging above the city
with sheets draped below the shoulders
and mouth dry from this famine.

There’s time hidden in the water,
if I could only learn to breathe
or walk on it.

There’s a lot left to see.
But as my eyes worsen the longer open,
I wonder—
what day is to make the best of?

Love was your old friend,
well known
to be leaden and thick--
to conflict
a course of conduct:
a structure for life.

Love was your idea,
not to be explained or taught,
but to be imperfect:
Human.