Maraschino Tombstone Lover

I’ve been holding myself tight

Waiting for you to take a bite outta meh

Knock all that talk of dichotomy

I want you to have the whole lot of me

Let’s fuck our way into eternity

I’m no fiduciary seduciary

I’m more a “let’s me and you get buried”

Type, but I’m kinda wary. I forgot

To put the cherry

On top

Published in: on January 18, 2017 at 1:29 am  Leave a Comment  
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Given Up

That Saturday morning Dad went to rest
forever on his old bed
and that old mattress,
I was in the kitchen
cleaning the waffle iron.
It wasn’t as much a mess
As I was when I learned too late
He’d Gone

The heat of the Tucson sun
blasted through the dining window
scattering to the walls from the chandelier
turning the room into a frightening scene
of fleeing spirits rising
like lava lamp ghosts,
invisibly higher
and I wondered if the sun
could just be a crystal in
a bigger chandelier;
another light source behind it.

I cried in the closet that day
with the Samurai sword, old leather jacket,
boxing glove, and bowling ball.
The grief took me too hard
to realize that I now had to find homes
for all these orphaned possessions,
But not hard enough to realize
I would never find
home for myself again.

Published in: on December 13, 2015 at 1:39 am  Leave a Comment  
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I am a paler blue than you are used to

I am a paler blue than you are used to
I am milk from the breast
The blind man’s eye
The morning sky
I am a paler pink and it’s not like you think
I am the dead man’s skin
The winter cheek
Wheezing life, oblique
I am twisted spine wrapped in barbed wire and twine
The clink on dinner glass
The old barn in the wind
Weakened, thin
I’m a softer gray than I was yesterday
I am the abandoned school’s window
The late autumn fog
The belly-up pollywog
Trapped beneath ice
I am a horrid last gasp
The precipice teetering boulder
The secret the dying man told her
I am all that fizzles
The last millimeter of wick
I am the faint sound of haunting
That is actually nothing blowing in the wind
I am the last straw the cow devours
In a land of famine
Digested four times before
The final feast is never more
I am the fraying shroud
on the cold slab
the scratching dry quill
the unfinished words of the will
I am the ruins
behind the undergrowth
I am the ship on the ocean floor
a splinter on death’s door
I am a palor of green
A mold on the cheese
I am the child that floats
the hanged man’s throat
I am a gutter of leaves
after four months of rain
I am slime
I block the drain
I am ash on a bonnet
the clay on work boots
I am the broken ax
the recipient of forty whacks
I am all that decays
I am all that stops shining
I am all of the hues
of adieu
Published in: on October 9, 2013 at 2:00 am  Leave a Comment  
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The Red Hours

I’ve got 8 legs
I’ll be busy all day
wrapping guys up
having my way
sucking them dry
till their skin’s shrink wrapped
round their spine
I’ve ate well today
got eggs to lay
and I’ve saved the corpses
they dangle and sway
in my widow web
what gets caught is mine
It’s still dark
and I know
there are many more friends
oh, it’s far too easy
to lure them in
if I show just a little
of any 8 legs they’re
bound to have a happy end…
Come join the party
where the boys all hang
You’re the dish for the dinner
that’ll cure hunger pangs
I’ve got a gossamer trap
and a daft pair of fangs
So I’ll feed on you
bound, you can’t move 
my hourglass tattoo, bobbing
red and smooth
will be your last sight
at the final close of your eyes
I’ll rest on silk, satisfied
you’re so much better
than all those flies
and I’m so glad
you decided to 
crawl by
 what gets caught is mine
Published in: on September 19, 2012 at 12:25 am  Leave a Comment  
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I want to be smothered in blackberry and ivy in the inebriated drips of this honey thick heat,
Every barbed tendril puncturing my stifled body,
Oozing my sticky-sweet juice, slathering your whole.
Cover my all, take me in!
It seems all I ever learnt of love is how to succumb.


Published in: on August 2, 2012 at 12:34 am  Leave a Comment  
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I’d swim right down in
to your inky den
and let every writhing tentacle in
nevermind the oxygen
It’s time to get literal
The lighthouse lit the littoral
and aquatic path for clittoral
lapping octet limbs so visceral
Knots I’ve swam for that naughty, nautical nymph
and sank below the dismal depths
He takes me and each lack of breath 
ravages me with enzymes till nothing’s left
It’s getting graphic, oceanographic
preferring the aquatic over plastic
pleasures derived from drastic
measures steeped in superficial tactics
So, I want to squirm with serpentine squid
them putting in and pulling out again
squeezing air, not there, and then
assimilating my flesh until I meet my end.
Published in: on June 11, 2012 at 12:47 am  Comments (3)  
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Low Expectations

The universe has rewarded
my low expectations.
It keeps me bobbing just on the opposite side of suicide
teasing me with that flaccid carrot;
and me, the fool,
who keeps reaching.
It unfolds before me
sarcasm, humility,
Murphy’s commandments…
It teaches me with pain,
ridicules my hope
and then gives me a taste
when I have given up.
It peppers me with tiny crises
until all I can taste is the heat
creeping up,
and just for juxtaposition,
throws a reality check
of ice water to my face
to show me what real crisis is.
The universe,
this great vast universe,
rewards my existence
by revealing the despair
in believing in fairytales,
the empty happiness
in social networking,
the infinite toil that fills my fridge.
I am a drain having it’s last slurp
I have put my hands in the earth
and have gardened in enough dirt
to make a 6 foot hole.
I’ve learned I have no control.
Even my best sometimes fails
and entitlement is a tale.
Happiness is letting go
and living with the results.
And if it works,
you can proclaim
that the universe is full of miracles.
Published in: on April 21, 2011 at 10:52 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Riding Thin

tenth pabst


this too will pass

pull strength

out of thin air

clean the bits from my hair

give it one more stab

in the gulch


the hurricane spins

a lot of people

ride thin and fall in

and still manage to swim

but I drown


I come around

and when my feet hit the ground

with purpose and sound

I give away

the urbane

to embrace the the slick terrain

one shoe will never know

if the other is completely blown

my audible groan

will let you know

at last I am home.

Published in: on June 17, 2010 at 12:32 am  Comments (2)  
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Give him a hand

the minutes tick without prodding

you’re an adult with a wristwatch

and no one is watching you

flick it hard and curse

as your imminent death draws nearer

I’ll give you my second chance,

’cause I don’t need it

we’re all human lives in garbage cans

waiting to be taken out

so don’t be late to the curb

Published in: on May 13, 2010 at 11:04 pm  Comments (1)  
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Dry up and die

On these Autumn days, I wonder
as I look at the colorful trees,
if I too am to be so colorful
when I dry up and die.
Published in: on December 3, 2009 at 4:59 pm  Comments (1)  
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No words can touch the tender love
of mother holding babe in arms
nursing, whispering, dreaming, singing
it is the harbor away from harm
The child’s heart, a seed
from the mother’s fruited tree
grows before her very eyes
into ripe maturity
With guarded heart, she tends his scrapes
wipes his nose and meets his teachers
watches him shave for the first time
and roots for him from the high school bleachers
The letting go comes very slow
if ever it should occur at all
she sees the man before her
yet to her, he’s still so very small
No words can touch the unspeakable grief
of mother holding babe in arms
an urn of ash from a horrid crash
her harbor utterly disarmed
Published in: on November 7, 2009 at 1:15 am  Leave a Comment  
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The Clock Struck 2

everything is different than what you know from the last time

because the clock has chimed

it’s erased, replaced

somehow effaced

a gray blob in the heart of everyman getting thicker

it cuts quicker


a mysterious trend

prodding wonder, inexplicable, unanswerable damnation

god-forsaken, fucking taken

alien invasion

Cold, quiet, pit, icy despair

no, just not fair

but there it is




gone too soon

grab yer bottle and follow me to the tomb

sigh and sit

cry and shit,

doesn’t make sense, does it?

along the same incision… okay gash

another account rehash ash ash

stupid echo silence sobs

train-wreck moms

the blob barely throbs

and we wonder what we did wrong

we can lean on each other, like switch-stick huts

barely up and mostly numb

and weather this bastard storm

and for what?

It’s bad art, Lord, those boys

strewn out like Christmas lights on mangled metal

Would YOU settle

for an answer

that answers nothing at all?


Published in: on October 13, 2009 at 1:04 am  Comments (4)  
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Good morning, Dark Stalker

I know a couple
lived so long
long enough to know
as all the parts
start to fail
that soon it’s time to go
I can’t imagine their living
with a reaper
stalking their every step
waiting for their pump
to quit
or the draw of their last breath
How it leans in intuitively as they hack
hoping to drag them into the black
The reaper sits in a corner chair while they sleep
when the snores grow silent, nearer it creeps
It peeks as they shower,(do not slip)
soon to be his if they break even a hip
Oh, the young,
they don’t know
how long they will be
Hell, a reaper
could certainly
be stalking me
Those octogenarians,
poor dears,
he follows them everyday
It must be haunting,
at the ripe end of decay
Published in: on September 17, 2009 at 1:35 am  Comments (4)  
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the target in the cross-hairs

 I’m easy prey these days,
a rapid catch.
ready to play?
teasingly left garments torn
soaked in my musk
hang from the oaks
and tracks where the mud
squooshed between my toes, show
you are on my tail
if your gun is loaded and ready
and your hounds can sniff my trail
you’ll be sure to bag me soon
if your senses are keen
you will recognize
that there are tracks aside mine
an imprint, but of what?
and pointy shards of shattered dreams
a struggle has occured, it seems
dear hunter,
are you stalking game
or a tracker shepherd ?
where I hide
under the leaves and bramble
and piles of loose earth
freshly discarded
ragg’ed and shucked
bum luck. Your mark’s already snatched
wipe the horror and shock from your face
rise to your feet
for at this very moment
you may be the target in the cross-hairs
Published in: on April 16, 2009 at 1:52 am  Comments (2)  
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The exorcism

My demons are getting some exercise
I need to make them good and tired
so for many quiet days
I’ll be relieved of their wicked ways.
My devil, doing biceps curls
tells me to go drink with the girls
I talk too much as my brain whirls
and imbibe until I hurl.
My imp, I tell him to run laps
my mind, it cramps, and bleeds through gaps
I gasp at such a tortured lapse
and beg for sanity’s firm grasp.
Twas squats I ordered Mephistopheles
which almost brought me to my knees
he pulled my skirt and begged, “Please!
I’ll rob your fair beauty should you rid of me.”
The exercise that left me vext
came to me in my quiet rest
A nightlong marathon we sext
his searing hand slid to my breast
Alas, it was Beelzebub
my soul’s health could join no other club
my fits of craze have no sub
my nourishment came from his nub
My demons give me exercise
If I fight they make me tired
they chatter to me on quiet days
saying death rids me not of their wicked ways.
Published in: on February 11, 2009 at 12:02 am  Comments (3)  
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The pit in me
is the epitome
of hidden
A stenching hole
that holds my soul
To which I’ve handed you
my self-control
My chasm, narrow
deep, harrowed,
is a mine
of exposed marrow
My crevasse, so incredible
No credit, not inedible
savored by the beasts
that find this grave so bedable
At the bottom of this great well,
Is a puddle and a shell
Of the woman, 16 years ago
So perniciously fell
Published in: on December 26, 2008 at 10:47 am  Comments (5)  
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tHe vERy WIckeD apple tree knOWs

My halloween stains are all over your sheets
I’m your candied apple, ready to eat
my heart skips, but you don’t miss a beat
your horror’s filling me up, I’m too lost to scream
the trick or treaters’ ghosts hover and observe,
my resign and your powerful nerve
your razor fingers trace my curves
giving me the torture that I deserve
 a puppet of your pierced voodoo
oozing devil’s residue
churning out my wicked brew
in response to all you do
you’re all tangled in my gossamer hair
you try to break free, but I’m trapping you there
my arms are branches that have covered your bare
you must be careful, sir, who you scare.
Published in: on November 14, 2008 at 9:53 am  Comments (1)  
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The Making of an Angel

You want to learn how to fly?
I can show you how.
Close your eyes, and spread your arms
And jump right off. Now don’t look down.
It feels like falling, it seems like dreaming.
You cannot soar if you are screaming.
Have some hope, it gives you wings
Have some trust in the impossible things.
You’re quickly running out of sky
Brace yourself here comes the ground!
Don’t forget to trust in God…
Remember? angels fly.
Published in: on October 12, 1999 at 5:11 pm  Leave a Comment  
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I looked at what resembled

A pile of sticks covered with putty.

How could I empathize

With such a pathetic soul?

It lay with so little so subtle a breath

How could I stand

In pure health and pity?

The powderflesh frame

Was yet to be mine.


I kneeled down aside the corpse

And gently slacked the brittle jaw.

So putrid a smell, a noxious stench

Released itself, and death escaped.

In spite of the stench, I inhaled deeply

And exhaled my breath of life

Into the rotting lungs.

Published in: on April 23, 1995 at 3:37 am  Leave a Comment  
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Where were we?

Look at where we stood!

And now where are we?

Drifting into the void?

How come we moved?

Did the floor drop out beneath us?

Crumbling to dust, our feet have surely left the ground.


What shall we do?

Is there a way to stop the falling?

Will it make a sound

If we never hit?


Should I be scared

In this strange descending motion?

Feel the air rush past- it is a long, dark haul.

Published in: on April 17, 1995 at 4:50 pm  Leave a Comment  
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