Thursday, April 21, 2016


it scribbles out

like a fist fight
from the sidelines

not always easy to admit

and so it bleeds
     it jumps from your fingers

September 9th, 2010

i walked all morning
just skipping stones
little stepping stones
littering the flood plain
empty of now
full of yesterday

     ...the bottle of whiskey...

it didn't take long to reimburse myself
to submerge
floating in the bends
     the crook of her arm
     a sudden urge to run
     no longer with the legs to do it

why do they haunt me?

atrophied in the sympathy
of devils

their angelic ancestry

out of breath
at the edge of every drink

the winds shift
shuffle the cards
it makes me restless
and so i rarely sleep
without an empty bottle.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

not enough words in a single bottle

she had hands
that would shake,
and sweat,
at the first signs of light.

window frames
and bed springs
ripped apart (from,
not with) the embrace,

void of cont(r)act
-a lost art-
courted on the steps
of a courthouse

and left
to fend for itself
amongst dogs
that chase "however"

with teeth and tongue,
rippling, gnashing,
for a place to pick clean
all the bones of "heaven".

Sunday, December 2, 2012

if not for heaven and hell, what other choice do we have?

i touched your halo
with the edge of longing
that coddled like a child,
at our feet
and in our hearts.

ushered us closer.

white knuckles
braced in our teeth.

it was cold,
and comfort was still 

against the horizon.

a distant-

a soft(ly outnumbered) 

a simple confrontation.

i struggled to breathe,
my fingerprints
rusting on your halo.

Monday, November 26, 2012

black friday

-the horror
of waiting
with empty stomachs-
ran paralleled
and unforgiving
(save for all the variables
that are time)
in and of itself,

not wholly unlike
a whole family-
victims of a hit and run.

casualties of nonchalance;
a snow globe
shaken in a desert prayer,

later sacrificed for water.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

in consequential order

"...inconsequential" she said,
"if shade is useless in the rain."

my mind had wandered off.

        (an aggressive sound,
        that should be reserved
        for the more colorful things:
        the sound of her car,
        [a commonplace,
        if left to her own devices]
        turning around;
        the sound of  autumn leaves,
        like her fingers,
        picking and peeling,
        powdering and posturing)

my mind snapped back
as she pulled the umbrella closer
and the difference in height,
made me have to crouch.

she was probably right,
-what ever it was-
it probably was
if shade is useless in the rain..."

...     ...     ...     ...

that night,
when the rain stopped
and the power
came back on,

it was already too late.

everything closes
so early around here...

she kicked me in her sleep

        (i pricked my finger
        on a loose nail
        when i pulled the covers

and mumbled
something about hunger.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Lake County, Oregon

where every page
of our lives
and writing;
not hiding;
bound in flesh),

can be carried by the fistful
or buried by the wishful,
the truth
begins to blur.

the edges of arrogance
and ignorance
(startled in the open
by the deadpan stare of a needle
and the breath of a thread),
reach for the peripheral
in a maddening dash
for the past-

the first chapter-

the title page-



but tomorrow.