Truth? a lewd's you
in known certain terms:
whether veins, when drowned
hawks a gin (loomin’)
a shin splinters as
mines bore on; why ‘ol
car bonfires grow tired
of a pack o’ lips’ wisp ring,
“Hydra Djinn—
Sine diem purgare nox.”
Redeem and weep
in tents, faces & phrases
met a fizz[i call]y
drunk in jest id bouts
wrested liver's tried & tested [buy con-
testant after contest-
ant] where West lids gaze
in two, the joy of the flame
hungry's gasping for air
[nothing's becoming] bright
berthed of ash-end tombs
lit up in the night.

why can't I just
it's just that
I'm sick and tired of
if I could only
the problem is
I don't know why but
I can't believe
but that's what I mean
I hate it when
it's annoying how
I can only imagine
if only there was
but it's like
isn't it funny how
now see that's
I mean obviously
it's just ridiculous
there's just so many
I really do think, that, you know
it's just one of those things where it's like
see, no matter what
I can't ******* stand it

You either know me, or you don’t.
I’m your best friend, and worst enemy.
I’m bought, sold (new and old),
sought, found, and tossed around.
I get twisted and turned,
mimicked and gimmicked.
I lead you here, I lead you there,
I lead you just about anywhere.
I whisper in your ear, and boom across the sky,
feeding off echoes, savoring my cry.
I’m overlooked and undercooked—
raw as sushi just unhooked.
I’m encrypted and coded into complex clues,
hidden in books and the daily news.
I’m hacked, chewed, shredded and burned,
analyzed and synthesized at every turn.
I’m stronger than ever and growing each day,
collecting, connecting, and creating the way.
Information’s the name, and if life’s a game,
then I’m one slick player with zero shame.

Success & Excess,
the double-headed goliath
atop the mountain drinking wine
laughed with all the slop-eating swine
at the ant-sized pilgrims
crafting their shrine.

But soon the mountain cracked
under the lives spent toiling
over construction & protection
of their collective prison--
the bitter stench of cynicism
wafted freely through its halls
& prisoners prayed for the crumbling
to bring them fresh air.

The mountain did crumble, success
& excess met pilgrims in fate
as the trumpets of creation harmonized
with the oboes of destruction
to wring out a nocturne
for the newly born babes.

Cynicism dissipated
& their souls grew
stronger, their will followed
& filled the void of Excess with
imagination to create
the world again.

Success, the wounded foe,
was forced to strut around town--
pilgrims & prisoners
laughed and poked, yet
at the nucleus,
Success whispered: "nothing can stop me."

Side-swept and caught
bereft in the dust colonies
of my memories.
Can’t cough for the life of me,
the air claws at my lungs
to escape—You’re imprisoned.

No windows in this basement,
its cries for light
cackling through its foundation.
Even the bulb you replaced
popped & burned as
black as your pupils.

Is that rain outside?
I might’ve asked you—but
these walls don’t care.
Concrete, born from water,
now lifeless and impervious
to its drum.

Still searching for the box
you gave me, that mocks
from the center—no doubt the core—
trapped and tangled in this
cardboard monument
of human waste.

To the flames it’ll go,
******* from my lungs
the stale oxygen you left behind.
Fresh air nearly forgotten,
though out of reach,
just like your touch.

words are bones of the dead
exhumed by mind or God or worms
to serve as the razor’s edge
carving trenches along
tongues where words are hung on tips
of innocent cliffs above guilty shores
while dreams unravel their threads
to shed narratives even nightmares
fear to tread;
the labyrinth from ear to eerie
plunging fathoms beyond waves
into oceans without words
where context meets
space;meaning meets time
swirling currents


before your eyes

focusing your sight
into a thousand words
of blistering might illuminating
recesses with signs of life
clung fast to the boiling point
of excitement possessed by ecstasy
ebulliently freighting sweet air
to the surface
where the survey concludes
that pollution occludes all reasons
as to whether or not
the will might’ve brought
a word or two from
original thought.