Skeleton Key

My mother pushed me out
A bag of bones;
Just an Ikea kit
Still needing to be put together.
And it took forever!
I had to order the missing parts myself.
The directions, foreign.
The illustrations, basic and monochrome.
Slapped together, I always leaned askew,
But did the job I was supposed to do.
And then years of quakes
shook me apart-
Random pieces dismantling on the floor,
Clamoring through the tool box for that “tools included” wrench;
The bitch that tightens up
And erects a structure that functions
Grip and turn till the blisters pop
Don’t stop! …until it stands
I figured it out!
I was worth every damn Krona…
oh sorry- Euro
And I ain’t going anywhere now…
I’m posting up with purpose
Providing a surface, steady
Ready for water rings, scratches
And even dust

Published in: on June 25, 2019 at 11:38 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Wet, gray sludge
Hardened to slab
My experience sucks me dry
Of time for your bullshit
No pacing.


Holding my space

Published in: on April 3, 2019 at 11:00 pm  Leave a Comment  
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A thick ribbon of white lights
Cascades from the valley
Transporting regret
Each passenger, a slave
Burning into reluctant Monday

But I’m brave
Heading the other way
Descending into
My fleeting black
A determined fool
Glistening with weekend butter
Better for sliding in to home
Dirty pants, romanced, gold

Those vessels of empty soul
Carting themselves forward
For goods they barely touch
Wolfing down a hasty lunch
Chasing remnants of light

They haven’t learned
Enough by answering clocks
And emails
Except how to line up real nice
And shuffle slowly to
their demise

Published in: on May 8, 2016 at 7:52 pm  Leave a Comment  
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On my first breath
I was a mess
you were absent forever
I drank absinthe and ether
every addict is running from something
but I stayed put
and was sorry
everything ran from me

I often played alone
it was house, never home
while you were chasing approval
I chased yours
and now I don’t know how to stay still
I stay busy
My haste makes the wind of that first breath

I made sacrifices to nothingness
And slaved to empty husband and children
Woke up old and tired
ready to slave
to the everythingness
ready to run toward something
that I can give to
that gives back
whose arms circle around me, as I theirs
closing the loop
of linear marathons
that go to nowhereness

Published in: on December 13, 2015 at 3:50 am  Leave a Comment  
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The Future

In a few minutes

we will have wasted a few more

looking at the black spot

just beyond the headlights,

waiting for things

to come into view,

waiting for good things to come,

waiting for the future to arrive

at gate B42

and greet it with hugs

as if it will be different

than the last time we waited

for something to arrive,

forgetting once we can see it,

we are bored.

In a few minutes

we will do things

that have been done before

feel feelings

that have been felt before,

but with different objects around us.

We will charge forward

holding remnants of familiarity,

answering to routine

and perhaps foreign traffic

coming in, and talk about it

as if we know what it is

before it arrives;

as if we are sudden clairvoyants

without an ego-biased agenda.

In a few minutes

we will realize that all

of anything coming or went

may be a another version

of something

that has happened before

and the only true distinction is

our individual



which is now.

Published in: on December 12, 2014 at 1:43 am  Comments (1)  
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Yard Sailor

I’m going to set sail on a long, long trip
Wherein I will lose sight of this land
And before I set sail, there’s a sale
Wherein I sell all, save for my soul
For without these, I am whole
This is my goal

Every worthless piece of junk,
Every memory laden trinket
Are just the same, things we’ve named
Assigned some life, some use, some space
And adorned our homes with decorous grace
For staged comforts set before our face.

My assets set out for rats to nibble at
in twenty-five cent increments
Each knick-knack sold, a fraying fiber
Of the rope that holds me to the dock
“Why, yes that Christmas tree is flocked!”
“I’m going cheap on that wok.”

Legos, lei goes, I’m letting go
Casting off weight and severing rope
Pushing off from all umbilical
Carnivore material vines that keep me drowning
On the soil that feels like grounding
Sell the yard and the surroundings

Hit the water, smooth and forgiving
Freer than the seabirds that place shiny things in their nests
It is possible to say that I am blessed
When I have nothing
Not even the anchor.

Published in: on November 5, 2014 at 9:11 pm  Comments (2)  
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Burn out all at once!

Burn out all at once!
Spend all your coins
Blaze so blinding bright, sparks ignite
Leap from cliffs into the cold deep
Boil, steam, and whistle
Run the soles off of your shoes
Inhale the whole world’s air in one breath
Write till you etch through the desk
Blow hard every birthday candle wish
Dance until your butt burns off
Laugh until your sound runs out
Sing in every key till doors unlock
Proclaim your truth with every vein
Splash in every drop of rain
Love until your heart bursts
Smile until your face hurts
Pound the pavement till you dent the earth
Play past sundown

What’s your worth?

Published in: on September 28, 2014 at 10:29 pm  Leave a Comment  
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The breathing elements

When my eyes are swallowing
majesty bolting in rays from behind 
skies full of clouds,
mountains stacked tall on 
the sighing ground,
I imagine this earth like
Grandpa’s Thanksgiving-full napping tummy
rising in and out,
an alive giant,
a witness to the bustling motion
of slow evolution manifested 
in lazy rivers crawling over sedimentary slabs,
fields electric with wild mustard seed,
boulders spewed from ancient volcano,
and hatch cracked by winter’s freeze.
There is a grand affect,
a connect,
that overcomes my distracted humanity,
that seas of blacktop, stucco, and steel
will never my attention so command
as this virgin landscape
this time-carved land.
Published in: on October 20, 2013 at 12:40 am  Leave a Comment  
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Jackson Pollock Dinty Moore Fetal Position

We’re all just one breath away from being rotting meat,
a wick waiting for a flame,
a fetus waiting for a name
We’re all just sizzling bologna in the mercy seat
And a masterpiece ready for a frame
Our artful life,
A sizzling sacrifice
One slice at a time,
we’re turning out real nice
and if we’re patient,
very patient
maybe we will become…
something… Edible.
We’re all just who we are,
ready to ignite or snore
We’re all just in our justification
intentional splatters carefully placed on canvas or concrete
dropped from birth canals on to the street
and forced to feed
We’re all just another creeping creature,
We’re all just walking stew with a beef,
sealed in skin and grief
A cauldron ready to be ripped open to release steam
Thermosealed comfort food ready to eat
We’re all just a pouch of flesh
A pocket of remorse
A vessel of paint
A flame getting faint
A fledgling main course
We’re all just a grip that hasn’t been grabbed
A morsel that hasn’t been stabbed
And if we’re still,
Very still,
Maybe we will be fattened consumers too
Just like the thing that eats you.

Inside the Out

I’m inside the out
brashing the wind
grating myself into seconds
forever blistering some young lad
with sun
and great things found shining
on city sidewalks
amidst gumblots
and gunshots’ spent casings.

I can see all the way
to kingdom come
and around the corner.
We’re not gonna go big or go home.
We’re yesterday’s news;
gonna drift, flit, and waltz
through thin air, tower tops
and then Camelot
Brumbling gaily
into stark night.

It’s not that we’re half-sights.
I wanna be sleeping when day breaks,
Deaf to the shatter,
Deep in the slumber,
Odometer rolling back numbers…

Forget all the bumpers and bothers;
Get bright, gyrate and burst!
Dunk cookies,
Bang the rookie,
Find the lost key
And quest yourself to death.

I can tell myself there is some meaning
When all solid matter could be conceived
As equal nothing.

So yeah.
I’m inside the out.
And it’s all over the place.

Published in: on May 15, 2013 at 10:47 pm  Comments (1)  
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The longing

For what my heart longs for,
my legs can span the longest length.
Or I’ll fill those chasms with my tears
and sail across on my raft of strength.

I’ll get to where I’m going.
I am sure I will not fail.
Because I know nothing of distance
and I know I will not bail.

The other thing, the important thing,
is that where ever I may be,
I am the person who comes before
the place that I will reach.

And still “I” will be there when I get there,
the place where my hearts longs;
the me that “is” combined with the me that “was”
is the wisest me to bring along.

I have the heart, the strength,
legs, head, and hands
To traverse whatever must be crossed
to span the space of any land.

And I will express this if I can:
There is no destination.
All I need is in what I am.

Life’s not easy. But you can make it, and make it good. And so can I.

Published in: on April 20, 2013 at 8:00 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Our Lives are Unfolding

Our lives are unfolding
Like origami

Creases are undone
We are returning to
Simple paper
With marks that show
We were once beautiful cranes,
Fancy napkins,
Cootie catcher fortune tellers.

In the end, we are all the same.
Squares of paper, blank slates
Mere cloth on laps
Open maps

After one bad bend, turn and smooth
There is a groove that beckons all future moves
Actions that make wrinkles,
Our mistakes, lines in our palms
Spelling longevity or brevity.

Our lives are unfolding
Like picnic quilts

Snapped open
And drifted to ground like fall leaf parachutes
We find a simpler time
To be alive
gleaming and gnawing
On rinds and bones
In an open space far from home

In the end, we are all the same.
Patchwork patterns
Loose stitches
Laced by ancestry,
A beautiful barrier from feeling the earth
And a tool for getting fresh air

Our lives are unfolding
Like old love letters found in hope chests,
A careful dumping of heart-wrought ink
That eventually fills us with longing or grief
Such simple paper
That echoes in the halls of memory

In the end, it is all the same
We fold back up,
envelope ourselves in long cedar boxes,
Mere parchment etched with
Sequestered confessions
Our crow’s feet biographies and laugh lines
Denied light or wistful gaze
Forever tucked away.

Published in: on January 17, 2013 at 10:09 pm  Comments (3)  
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Is love a shackle?

No one wants to be lonely

but they still wanna be free

So where does that leave a poor soul like me?

The longing, the yearn-

it scrapes and it grates

exploration, my whims, and men;

check the weight

on the scales

Could we manage

the balance?

Oh dear!

Could I live with the echoes

of hearts beating near to the

fractals and fragments

of possibility? And have another

hand on oars

when traversing the sea,

the vast sea,

the vacancy,

the open doors

held for me?

Can I follow my impulse

with a pulse close beside-

A like mind right in stride

and along for the ride?

Every urge, will it be fed

Can I trust they will be

happy, fulfilled and also feel free?

Could I find a parallel person

no follow, no lead?

And when, finally, I am idle,

will he lay still with me?

In this life we are all

just leaves in a stream

caught in our own currents

and sometimes out of sync

and at times we get stuck

behind the debris

as the other floats on

floats on

Published in: on November 27, 2012 at 12:48 am  Leave a Comment  
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Absence makes the heart grow fonder”
“Out of Sight out of mind
It’s hard to leave the past behind
And so the heart lingers in the past
on a hitch pulled by the hurried brain
It’s a reluctant train 
howling through the fog
of memory and destinations promised
And the premise is precarious
on the grinding wheels
that carry us to the place
where we seek solace,
a load to relieve
It’s a depot where we rest long enough
to gather vagabonds
and glares from trainspotters
before we chug on
with the weight of all that freight,
smokestacks spewing
wasted time
and still attached to what’s behind
Published in: on October 26, 2012 at 12:27 am  Comments (2)  
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Purpose wrecks me,

Bends me into a fascist general

Dictating masochistic commands

Disguised as goals

when I would rather be aimless

letting inevitable genius come to me

spontaneous as thought.


A lack of plans,

is freedom.


Fate will come regardless,

even without giving oneself

a chance to fail.


So I drift,

when I am able to just let go

of the rope called purpose

that winds around my neck.


My life needs no reason.

I am.

Anything more

is just too much.

Published in: on June 5, 2012 at 10:49 pm  Comments (1)  
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What makes people tick?

We’re all unique in pulse, pattern
syncopated ticks
in cacophony,
wild metronomes
pushing blood around
to the sound
of thumps in the night
to slow the rhythm
we can’t manage,
clocks to give us unreachable regularity
at such a steady pace
that impairs our confident and independent stride.
Tame tempos that suit your temperament:
largo, presto, adagio, allegro.
You’ll grow in cadence,
with licks of ocean tides,
join the crickets,
find the choir bellowing
tones in your bpm,
dance with winds
that make barn doors rattle and clap,
laugh until you’re out of sync,
ride the brink of gasps
fluttering and trembling
your throbbing core.
That cardiac pause looms,
eternities of pendulums
hanging still like retired drumsticks,
eminent windless dark…
Time does not stop at death.
It endures without a beat
to move with,
a paralysis of pulses,
no sound
to measure
breaths drawn.
So at dawn, arise!
March to your drum,
inflect and step 
into your OWN time.
Published in: on February 29, 2012 at 12:27 am  Comments (2)  
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The kind of trouble

that comes from solitude

is the kind you should worry about most

and also the kind you can best control

Published in: on September 11, 2011 at 10:04 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Lack of Vision

Hell is what you see

when the rest of the world is blind

Let us not pretend

that we cannot see

and become silent liars

muted into cotillion manners

dowsed in plastic frill

and bound by bleached teeth handshakes

History is written when thinkers speak

visible truth goes streaking

shocking habitual deniers into sight

There is hope, yet,

of gradual human progress

without concealing,

open dialogue

without a script,

and building relations

without fumbling for a light switch

Published in: on September 11, 2011 at 9:03 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Dirty Wind

blow your hot gossip in my ear,

it makes my pinwheel spin

it generates the wind

that makes us tornado friends

ripping up roots that ran deep

tossing frailer trailers into troubled heavens

to have them crash

spilling our secret whores,

lipstick smeared, bra strap dangling,

10 mile scattered garbage nobody would want

if it was free

you wanna rape somebody’s trust

and have it traced back to me?!

we’re all closet nose-pickers, butt scratchers

daydreamers of greener grass,

a tighter ass

and infatuated with wrecks

but heck,

game’s off when your shit’s on deck

blow your putrid gossip in my ear

until it cranks my windmill around

you gave me power and you’re going down

I’m going to the source to return

your dirty breeze

wrapped up in brown paper

and a tag that says return to sender

yeah, I’m the ender

I’ll burn the news stands down

until they tell me something

that will make





Published in: on June 16, 2011 at 2:42 am  Leave a Comment  
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White Rabbit

There is so much I can be doing,

so I procrastinate sleep

there is so much to dream,

so I delay waking

Where ever I am,

infinite possibility

making me late.

Published in: on June 15, 2011 at 12:38 am  Comments (7)  
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