Thursday, December 8, 2011


winter always arrives
with such a fierce
we can never be prepared

for the wind-
it's brisk un-comforting;
the icy grip,
an ever clandestine

friend of all foes

(the winter in my heart, is warmer).

offering very little
to calm a shivering spine
this is only a fistful of words;
a handful of memories.

the chattering of tooth
and nail,
only amplified
by the presence of a shadow

careful to be heard

(in the aftermath of a wake).

Monday, November 14, 2011


the sweetest emotions of the soul
sat shivering in the light 
glittering off the gravestones
next to the shadows 
where we, define:

drawing shadow puppets 
on the peripheral-
i suppose, 
i shouldn't be so surprised.

we've been sh(e)aring needles 
in a coffee cup, 
filled with the severed heads 
of Guillaume Duchenne.

extremities, and, 
t(w)oo painful  
for the living and/or dying

our most potent symbol 
of cooperation,
and the science 
of smiling through the guillotine.


this was written a few years ago, and a friend brought it to my attention, stating they hadn't read it in a while, and that they would like to. personally, i was surprised to discover the person had ever even read it, let alone remember it. upon reading again today, i recognized i had forgotten an awful lot about this poem. so here it is.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

a stomach full of halos

when the morning spreads its wings
across the dew-stained awakening
of the night before,
the leftovers of caressing the catalyst
surround the chest cavity like a wishing well-
the emptiness,
staring up, out and away
at forever abroad.

the brisk soul of autumn
will straddle the break of day,
dragging the carriage
for the coming night.

the halt of "abrupt", and,
"without warning",
are just small enough
to fit inside the cracks between
"another nuisance",
should nothing more arrive
to challenge it.

as noon
strikes the hands that announce it,
askance, this stomach full of halos
begins to churn.
presenting itself in rare form:

the bruise of acknowledgment
touches -nervelessly-
the gravity of common ground,
as it relates to commonplace,
and common law-

as to avoid the suspicions
of having held
and never known,
as it relates to having known
and never held-
for better or worse,
rather than want or ware.

Friday, September 30, 2011

guest check

we were stale-
like the soulless,
that snuck into heaven

               so i raised my hand
               and called for the check

               it was time to go

time to untie the knots-

           replacing heart
           with brittle,
           brittle hands
                     and head
                     not found.

           a serrated speech
           about reflective surfaces,
                           shrugging and
                           short of breath

savagely lacerated
by tongue-in-cheek
and teeth,
              -and quickly-

Sunday, September 11, 2011


when we awoke
the rush to save each moment
before we passed them
through the doors
out into the streets
was deafening.

abrasive upon our tongue
and shaky at our lips

now, away
where memory slips,
turn sharply into thoughts-
collapse and colorful adjectives
discarded clothing.

i pull the leaves from the sill.
i smell your skin
lingering like the last gasp of dusk.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

chess board

in a space
wholly between two steeples,
          the words tumbled
          across the surface
                leaving empty patches
                of corrosion,
                as well as conformity.

          picking the seconds
          -discriminatingly- off the clock,
          the air around our heads
          turns yellow and folds into our mouths
                   with the fervid abruptness
                   of a breath-
                         hitched and lacking.

the stumbling of footsteps
slaughtering synchronization at the stairs
       carry with them
       -so fluently-
       the clarity of a shell,
            the need for a noose,
                 the scent of a corpse,
                     and the weight
                     of forgiving.

primary colors


what is it?

when i close my eyes
(that i should see your face?)
if i should seek your shade
(that i might find myself...

i stop forgetting
at the point that i lost
the most grateful of things
and began to remember
where we stood

-a pirouetting sunrise-

and bowed to no one-
but nonetheless,
found more solace
on our knees
than there are cracks
in the foundation

(it's good to see
you're holding up).



so many
things to say.

. . .

only so many
to include



the sun sets
on shrapnel

a piece
(if fitted)
a friend
(when appropriate)
and only just big enough
to take the "i'm"
from "immortal",
and place it fittingly
and appropriately
with and of


Thursday, August 11, 2011


it started somewhere
near the corner of a fuck up
and a safe place to hide it.

i'd run out of zig-zags
and made a b-line... was certainly ironic,
if not simply coincidental.

"confidential" was not too much to ask,
-however unexpected-
it should be known
that the cost of food
compared to time,
is like a ride
compared to a ride home-
and lest we forget

the place i laid my hands
compared to the last place
i laid my head.

Thursday, July 14, 2011


the moment the sun rises.

where the concrete screams
and the seconds hum under the street lamps
where we shared all the space
like curtains share the windows
and lonely eyes
share a bed;
a breath;
a being;
a beginning.

there was a time
-so brief-
the darkness
shaped itself like a razor
and the old blossom died
like a static ''need''...

a place to sleep;
a place to forget;
to dissolve...

that place,
that moments,
turned to hours and
hours, turned to days
and the space in between,
a blank stare
pooling in shadows.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

antibody parts, or delicate; weary (part VI)

diving in parallels,
she swam in parenthesis

riding and
her hands into my ribs

she'd coaxed my heart

into showing her
all the ample space
-the emptiness-

lurking in
and around the corners

eating shadows
and leaving their bones
to turn to dust

for better judgement
and the time to adjust.

(when adjacent served
little purpose and famine set sail

-as a vulture, searching for food),
the collapse of conquering

covers the want
with the mulch of the past,
collecting at our feet.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

A Rapture Of Sorts or, Predictable Motion(s)

(a dirty, girly gun
against my head)

spring loaded
this offering will rise
upon every eye-
every cringe
and every lost.

no one will know the difference
there are too many stories
to break the end
upon cataclysm;
your friends;
and hers
(my friends
and theirs).

it's easier to make it up, 
then to tell the truth -and become, 
the ways that i despise.

Friday, May 13, 2011


blue skies
cloud, pouring from her eyes.
disturbing echoes
of a dance with time,
screaming in blood red
through the razor-wire.

splattering rays
of the sun (the tentacles
of a pagan love song)
that quiver,
like cobwebs
in a splintered mosaic.

lost, in the catacombs
of derelict eyes, her fingers
twist the latticework
into a smile -a ghost-
of narcotic decadence,
rusting on the horizon.

Monday, May 9, 2011

if spring were a woman, i'd never let her go

i pressed everything
against the glass
and waited
for a pulse.

i removed the limbs,

they folded nicely
on the horizon-
it was only fitting
that they should pull,
and calm,
every morning
into night.

next, the lungs
were removed
-and quickly-

without the heart
between them
they fight for air,
and a place to put it.

once apart,
their arrest is apparent
and the shell that remains
carries the breath of aging

at this point,
i felt safe
the senses.

they grow tired
without the necessary attention.
but without hands or voice,
and scent,
are easily etched from hiding.

once removed,
they caress my
casual advances
within all four seasons;

i placed the eyes,
in spring,
so that they should not
recall the harshness of winter.

the tongue,
and both ears,
will forever battle
for the last breath of fall
upon the first sigh of winter.

but every inch of nerve
will sit calmly
in the thunderstorms
of iowa summer.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011


when memories collapse
upon collision with experience,
it's easy to forget the order
of appearance.

multitudes fall from the sky
like torrential uproar,
and finite intentions
curl up,

due to the abrasive separation
of found
and being found lost- or found out

fulfillment and regret;
the future,
the present and the past.")

and shortly
they'll trickle around the edge
-turn abruptly-
and stop.

i'll place the edge
-against aftermath
and furthermore
better judgment-

flush with sight
and sound,
and breath.


the lines in quotations are a joseph campbell quote, 
from the book The Power Of Myth.

Monday, May 2, 2011

two little orange caps

so many things 
left to say-
to stay, and, 
only so many places
to call 
"(y)our own",

and be alone.

a place
to cover all the places,
that you place them so neatly.
without a place 
to share;
to have and to hold,

your breath.

Sunday, April 24, 2011


the sun sets
in every page 
torn from our lives,
where lost,
outstretched hands 
become brittle,
and cautious.

i covered your lips
with unutterable found-
and quietly,
this severed desire 
was diminished.

i hear your name 
in all the spaces 
between us

(it's not enough 
to want 
in silence)

it is as if 
from deep inside
the knife in my back
knew of no other place
to creep around;
bury roots;
and call "home".

Monday, April 18, 2011


came and went;
moments shared
And remembered-
lost in the undertow
between tangible effort
and a wish;
a fantasy
affectionately led
(blindly, though
without angst)
through the labyrinth
of place
and posture;
and farewell.

gone without a word
somewhere between
and dawn
-under the worm moon-
within the whisper
of a catalyst

now spring reveals
the knotted memory
of fall
and standing still
in the reverberation

of a heartbeat;

a breath;

a voice.


coax me
into warmth
with breezy words like

then pick them
all apart
separating flesh
from bone,
to point out the

-all just
and universally-

all just words.

datum, or, "from the court"

with no direction-
no tongue-in-groove,
linear growth,
and even what-have-you,
will collapse.

turns to Need,
for blankets and shelter
where days spent under lamp shades
begin to blur
-like the knots of a blindfold-
for lack of want
and ware.

where pennies bruise value,
the priceless knowledge of scarcity
draws desire up the droppers neck

judge and jury alike
chew the gavel;

conviction and sentencing
pull the covers away

from the sweat
of entanglement.

a fistful of hair
opens her throat
as our breath,
becomes taught
and expensive

i grip each curve
with the need to accelerate-
aside from being so colorful
with anticipation.

crisp and covetted
curl and parch,
perfect in this last moment
where the chased
became prey
and the prayers are folded
and pocketed
with such a tangible
and casual,

Sunday, April 17, 2011

[ultra]omnipotent paradox, the

she'd been inching closer
and i'd been sleeping longer
in the shadows cast by her figure

it was warmer there.

her legs
wrapped around my words
and littered the floor like blindfolds
tied clandestine
in clumsily executed knots.

she found the collapse of will
in the hierarchy of settling in
and falling for her breath.

...          ...          ...

where coarse
and brittle words
would have hung the noose
much farther from reach,

i find that i am weak and a liar
in such winter climates.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

dot, dot, dot on the ground

in the beginning of each end,
we've savored each of them
for the loss they entailed.

i trace my words like artillery fire,
just to make sure they make it
allllllllllllllllllll the way,
to the target
(e'x', marks the spot).

now we bask,
in their absence
for the woes
we carry along, and,
the battles we fight in our minds
when the least of our worries
take over.

with a strength
i cannot account for,
i have stitched each blasted,
and withered fragment,
back together.

but the puzzle,
pieces together
without any discernible image;
only the gesture,
over which i hold my hand.

and the jester,
prickles my tongue
"grin and bear it"
he smiles through my teeth,
where we stood
like exes and eyes,
ready for the shedding of skin;
the bearing of fruit;
and the resulting trickle of truth,
to land at our feet.

that now i stitch, again
into the lists
we've carved in our arms,
of the names we regret.

leaving a trail of blood
in an ellipsis,
allllllllllllllllllll the way
to the last word.

in the end,
we've bled like stuck pigs for so long,
we share the same pale,
paper reflection,
no matter where we choose to look for it.

Friday, March 11, 2011

a throw-away

how bold,
this dusty blue mess
of looming grace-
smeared by your use

a subject which
(though mad
in form),
is a nude metaphor

an aesthetic shard
sculpted of wood
and passion,

Friday, February 25, 2011

hollow cost

the window frames
lean over and moan
like the most beautiful eyes
collapsing into sleep.

the neons flicker
and sentences
begin to trail off
into ellipsis-filled retreat.

in most cases
the casual estimate of contents
would be appropriate,
if not matter-of-factly expected.

but this routine is different,
what with catalysts aside,
comforts beside ones self,
and safety, safely tucked away.

it'll be morning soon.
and without proper alibi
and/or appeasing,
it'll soon be a night

of christ on a cross
noosed around our necks;
the devil in our hands,
cradling the pendulum.

Monday, February 21, 2011

without reprise, but revisited for lack of better words to send through the mail

even in the latest moments
of night, just before
the first -downward-
stabbing rays of sun
crash -belligerent-
through the skyline,
i ignite the streets i walk
with the last available slur
of intoxication
only to saunter off
into the shadows.

and still,
nothing more to say.

just playing card houses
worn from use,
identifiable by their worth
and just as easily spotted
in our hands.

the cusp of brazen jaws
grinding out the words
if only for the benefit of
aggressive sins
(found confused, confessed
and abandoned)
in the racket and blur
of an empty subway car.

the trains move faster
than we can abide
so the words leftover
crawl in sluggish
(albeit, foregrounded)
courtroom sentences.

a reason to
hone intentions
for better nights
spent searching
for mo(u)rning.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

make-out sessions and cemetaries

              (what they were,
              were keys,)
              yellow keys with blood
              splattered on them,
              in an attempt to mesh with
              a part of apart from the rest.

so we faded
in and out of
shapeless insomnia
            swaying into

the night,
growing fond of
such things;
         the ripples and
         folds of

            coveting, and
                    drumming it's fingers
                    outside my eyes, like windows,

  ( what she saw, there,
   were insects,)
        cadavers, and maybe,

               faceless smiling hands, and
               a moan in the dark
                                                three times,
                                                at least).

Friday, January 28, 2011

"rumi" i murmur

"Rumi" i murmur,
"I've been speaking to the dead,
in silence with clipped wings.

"Over the next 8 months,
we will (with and
without, intent)
starve our emotions
just to remain
in these vows of silence..."


We will put out our candles
and sing to the night sky,
without mouths,
but with pouring open eyes,
and embraces, warm
under the summer moonlight.

I will remember you
in the hurry
that I loved you,
and the fury,
that we lost you.

But the lush beauty you left
to stow away in our hearts
we hold tonight in our hands-
captive, though unwilling to escape.

We are thankful for this moment
that you have left in our hearts-
that we can share it with you still.


For you, i will cover
such grave decisions
with a single agate.

It's millions of years
ought to put enough space
between us
that memory
could short change the anger
of your early dismissal

(call it jealousy).

There is a beauty
that you could never
have vanquished,
nor outran.

It is now the hues
of the morning sky;
the heat
of the afternoon sun;
the scent of evening rain;

and the midnight sauntering
of hands,
reaching for each other;
washing each other;
all ways wishing,
for each other.

Wanting to remember.
To never forget.
To know,
and have known.

In these memories of want,
and ware,
whet with emotion,
I do embrace you, thankful
for the time that we shared.


For your memory
we will not silence lips,
or tongue,
nor tooth and nail.

For you, we will diminish
our inability to forget.

We will stand together
and clap our hands
at the night sky,
until it blossoms
like a nuclear sunrise.
Exposing us,
finally naked to the new day.

We will shout out the lights
upon this vibrant arrival,
having been readying all night
for the battle of daybreak to begin.

We will not sleep.

For you -and now everyone,
We will celebrate
without shame,
or silence,
but with voice,
and volume.
So that no one
will have to stand alone
in the dark


FIRST VOW: on june 26th, 2009, my friend chelsea hart died in an electrical fire in her apartment. she had been thrust into my life, as well as the lives of my friends and then taken from us, with a speed and fury that haunts me to this day. i will not forget her.

SECOND VOW: on september 8th, 2009, my secret crush and close friend sena hanson was shot to death in her home by her husband john downing. this is a loss that i can not speak on. i have no words for it. sena, is arabic for "to praise".

THIRD VOW: on february 1st, 2010, my very good, and very close friend jessica moeller died of a drug overdose. she struggled with those needles for a long time. and i miss her every day. i will be tattooing a wisdom tooth on myself as well as 4 others in her memory.

but this poem is about more than just them. i lost a lot (people and things) over the years. in these losses, i have not been able to recover. i struggle with it every day, and sometimes i see tangible progress, other days i only witness psychological/spiritual chaos. i wrote this as a means to remind me that i am moving forward. that i have too many friends that are worth my efforts to stay alive, stay supportive, and to stay honest with myself as well as others. chelsea was one of the single most loving people i have ever encountered. she truly loved everyone. and she loved me. and that makes it easier for me to deal with her death. sena was a friend from way back in the day. as beautiful as the sun is bright. i miss her so much. god how she loved the madness. hell hath no fury like sena hanson. and jessica, how the fuck could someone so intelligent, so far from the average bear, do something so stupid? i know the answer. i just don't want to hear it out loud.

it means a lot to me that anyone reads any of this shit. it really does play a large role in my ability to remain sane.

this piece was originally written june 19th, 2010.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

dry ice

i let you
cover my tracks
by shadowing me

where we could fill in
all the graves
with periodic

and nonchalant

became the eye
of the storm.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

three bar napkins


in the last of all
their will-they say-
              will break.
the bloodied and bruised
will fall, cross-eyed
               and capsized, following
               the worth,
                              of any man's guess.
i suppose, i should leave.
something i could have done
years ago. but i waited.
baited, but fading nonetheless.

my breath, wades in it all
                 -and after all-
      they're only thoughts,

               a place to stay.


ice melts in the aftermath

a stuttering vision
         of fidgeting
and wishing
       (in one hand),
and wanting
       (in the other),
and the emptiness
        (in between).


stolen, and
just as sentimental
   my fingers bend,
      and crease
   the envelope
and sloppy
from use-

       "if i were you,
       you'd be me."

Monday, January 24, 2011

the parameters of inclusion

so insistent...

it's such a contribution,
how to reconcile
-the what and the why
to reconsider-

when the rain falls
like blemishing
without blood,
or bleeding
without blush.

where every new hand
builds faster than the first one,
just like every new syllable
brings every sentence
closer to the edge of the page,
only to start over
closer now
to the bottom.

like standing on death row
waiting -longing- for a seat,
or laughing into our hands
when and where
we're too scared to look.

it's not without knowing.
not without the flood.
the fall.
the faults
and factory lines.

questionable, yes.
but emphasis is unnecessary
when forced to acknowledge
every option- yet remaining,
once it begins getting cold

Friday, January 21, 2011


there are some 'things'
that nothing
-and nothing, alone-
can out race

something 'fantasy'
-whether pleasure or pain-
can never prepare [you]
-with or without- for.

in fact,
something like the color
of waking up
-or walking in-

some where
you don't live-

some place
-a place that otherwise-
you might have stopped
to rest.