Wednesday, April 26, 2017


It’s so easy to write about what makes you scared
or sad
or depressed.

The right words flow so smoothly when expressing
what’s wrong.

And then the imaginative ink
dries up and curdles in its well
when things are going right.

There seem to be infinite ways to show and share sorrow
while joy can only best be savored
in silence.


this thing chased
called happiness
that is enveloped
in octopus skin
always in the
process of becoming
a dance of shifting
color and texture
in the murky depths
hunting the invisible

Monday, April 24, 2017


Is it because
of me
or you
that I feel so unhappy?

I can’t tell anymore
who’s at fault
and I’m afraid it
has gone past
the point that
such things even matter-

no matter how much,
or especially because,
it feels so much like
they do;

I am the common link
in all my failed
and dysfunctional

"The Nauseating Sound of Emotional Vomit," in D minor

The process
of ceasing to believe
does not end with adulthood
but death.

The only pity allowed
is self pity.
And only as long as
you keep it
to yourself.


Whose life am I living?
The shoulders in this town
just don’t fit right
-a little too big for me-
and it doesn’t keep out
the wind and cold
the way I’d like…

It may be a good
deal but I’m not sure
it’s worth buying if
I might never be
in it.


Who is she,
gusty hard blowing
hot and cold blasts
down roads lined with
shoulder-to-shoulder brick buildings…

Rising off the water liked a Bond
bombshell double agent, the highs
and lows of imagination seen in her
sway as she lands on the loud streets
creating and parting the gathering
scattering crowds before her;

The hardness of the city rises
to meet, penetrate, push her away
or pull her down;
but onwards, she crawls and scrapes,
rips and glides her way to the vast
open plains beyond


I wish I didn’t need to write
to feel, to know my own self.
That feeling seen didn’t feel so
revealing, this feeling is revolting
and risking repulsion I internally cower
and cover and close-off myself.

No body wants to be
so seen
while so alone.


At what
point do
you realize
the problem
is you?

Tuesday, April 18, 2017


Old friend.
I think about what you said
about that moment
that you could feel yourself
gripping the rail
staring beyond and below
out and through and past;
your fingers clenching
pulse racing
adrenaline flooding your body
as you knew
in terror and exhilaration
that you would jump

You read those words
and felt yourself possessed by them
and so you jumped-

I’ll never now if
looking back
it was worth it; whether you were freed
by that moment
if you have found what you were looking for
-what any of us are looking for-

sometimes I
feel my palms
sweat, my skin tingle
with cascades of goosebumps
and I think
of you.