Conscience Convened Calamity.

Devour me.
Pass me through your lips,
divine.
Chew me up and spit me out,
or swallow me
in time.

Take me.
Pull me in or toss me
aside.
Rejoice in my undying faith
while insinuating
my rhyme.

Shame me.
Judge me with your kind eye,
wise.
Give reason to my rambling
while presuming
my crime.

Reach me
Touch me with your words,
sublime.
Teach me a lesson and rise
or bear witness
my unwind.







p.s. if you continue to hammer the nail the point may find its way clear through or the fucking pounding will cause its head to bury itself too far into the wood to ever be pulled out.

When you least expect it.

I am precipitant, and temptation proffers madness. I can’t resist. I love the fucking rush of blood to my head, my heart hammering my ears. The rhythm and intensity set me to cruise. I am making decisions just moments before the situation even presents itself. And it all works out.

With your assault on my senses still pushing adrenaline through my veins, I decided to give myself a brief respite from self-induced ubiquity. I righted myself before you…almost completely relieved of the obscurity that may have impaired your perception (I am absurd). I focused my energy inward and provided you with a unique, cogent vision...handed to you in haste.

Without contrast.

For just a moment I tethered myself to you. In the dark and held captive by brick and chain link, you held the truth in the palm of your hand. While I stood, waiting for the fucking bomb to drop. I wanted to pull you aside, then. I wanted to tell you, whisper it in your ear. I wanted you to see me. Register my words with my voice. But, translation was lost in my subtle introduction, and I know I caught you off guard. My strength diminished, I walked away with the truth in my fist, my secret under a floodlight.

With you.

I admit that you may not know, but I need you to know. I need for you to know.

After all of that, and even if misunderstood, I have to say that your presence is appreciated…and I must admit often anticipated. But, it was never my intention to lead you. I hope I have not caused you concern, and I must ask, are you angry? Are you angry with me? If you need reassurance, if you question my intent, I could tell you again.

My friend, all you need to do is ask.



p.s. and even then I am amazed.

I'll pay you off in twenties.

My heart is a vacuum
and in it a prickly pear.
It is nothing that I swallowed,
it was you who put it there.
In absence of sunlight
it grows and bares flesh
while spines follow limbs
to a fine found filament
of sugar frosted fingers
for my grip almost spent.
It purges heat and a punch
then I swallow it back,
that prickly pear
perhaps, I did put it there.


p.s. it really wasn't as grand as I thought it would be.

Hollow point.

I will repeat it again and again.
For thirty-two, then thirty-three
time stopped. But, when does it end?
With empty rooms and unfilled beds,
and desperation; the last moments
and too many words left unsaid.



I am copying each name with bold black ink onto plain white card, filling the empty space with the only tangible evidence I have. One at a time I place a card face down before me while I consider each as if it were my own. Then, on the back of each card I write my name.
I can, but they cannot.

So, I will.

Away from here my soul.

The clouds have dropped
below the horizon and
swallowed me whole.
Now, I am not able to see
I have nowhere to go.
And when I get there
the path has been dozed over,
it happened while I slept.
I like it better this way,
because uncertainty is exciting.
And I am tired
of well worn routes.
So, I take the lead
only for myself.
And when I get there
I will know,
and when I get there
I will know, and
when I get there, I will
know.

(Don’t be afraid)



p.s. where does it go? where is it from? what does it leave?

Once more, with feeling.

Clutter. Even a precious possession can be set aside, misplaced or forgotten. Another less important object carelessly placed upon it, and another, and another, until it is buried. It is easy to become overrun and all that surrounds us consumes our sanity, our energy. Soon, you are unable to find what you had only a few weeks ago considered relevant. What a fucking mess.

It is usually in haste that I will begin to rummage through the piles. The need for immediate clearance prompts the overhaul. But rationale overrides rage and I trade trash bags for storage boxes. All that has been sorted out is neatly preserved. I am certain six months from now I will be digging through the boxes.

But for now, space has been cleared and I found my jacket.





The Burden of Elevation

I can no longer stand in front
and throw my fist at you, intent
on hearing every word, captured
in the moment spinning out of control.
But, I miss this like second nature
and then again, I was always more
comfortable slightly out of focus.




p.s. what the hell another won't hurt.

Subliminal Message.

Relative Aperture

A smashed glass cracked
in my last careless act
catching sight off guard.
Points sparkle a dappled dance
across the hardwood floor
spreading as the day grows
and peaking at midday
then rising full in the sky
for the time I hide away.

Until evening’s effulgence
slips through severed slats
catching sight by chance
announcing a worthy time
while bringing rust to rhyme.
From lyric baring branches
pick the last pack of matches
and set alight this balefire
for grieving my darkest desire.


(As we depart, we arrive.)


p.s. thoughtfully holding the line.

I am not who you think I am

I am not who you think

I am

Who you think I am not

I am