No hiss

There hung a single icicle
puncturing the pregnant moon, sinking

I came to pray to the night,
give my winter confession,
whisper visible breath
in hopes the silence would steal it
and I knew it would
because the moon, she made it far enough
to escape the chill that would expose
her leaking air;
the sound already stolen away

The round world will never know tonight, we deflated, you and I.


Published in: on December 13, 2015 at 1:27 am  Leave a Comment  
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The Transfiguration of the Ballroom Belle

We used to dance cheek to cheek
Now I’m going check to check
without a buck
and woes strung like weights ’round my neck
You feckless fuck
I’m such a shipwreck and in the muck
and heck I’ve had no luck
with pricks that peck
and expect a suck
The world is just a hex 
and I’m left moonstruck,
hoping for higher grounds;
promises sought in orbs so round 
like rings that never took;
that shine like silver things 
that caught my eye-
just dancing light upon the brook
Or a hook in hookers’ mouths,
I’d feed on lures
in hopes of nourishment
so I could reach the sea,
where vast waters
let the moon dance upon unbroken rippling
But tides will break
like my wave-worn heart
and there’re some shores
I’ll never reach
Eddies and Johns twirl me round 
and spit me into the muddy breach
In my god-damned fate, 
no floodgate will free my gills
from miry bogs 
I’m stuck and gasp, evolving legs
till I’m a frog, unkissed 
dismissed in trysts,
I’ll claim a fly for a best friend
chew him up and regurgitate him over and over again
But what waits for discarded creatures
such as I,
with bodies submerged and eyes to the sky?
I can bellow and croak- 
(it’s all just midnight’s white noise)
and dream of overall front pockets on dirty little boys.
Published in: on November 8, 2012 at 10:23 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Lunar Target Practice

Lunar target practice
master the tactics
that gravity won’t defy
Aim high
nail that laughing man
between the eyes
And let the debris
rain meteor showers
on me
Give the oceans
a moment
of stand still silence 
That cold heartless stone,
unthrobbing, distant
and so damned alone,
is fixed
in the scope
of those with nothing to lose 
Scatter craters,
Apollo-getic haters,
I’m shooting the moon.


Published in: on June 10, 2012 at 12:57 am  Comments (1)  
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The Search

There’s a needle in the haystack
And a man in the moon
I’m forever finding
Pain in pricks,
from grabbing at straw
Distant smiles in cold blue stones
I cannot reach

Published in: on April 26, 2012 at 12:48 am  Leave a Comment  
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The moon is for lovers and loners
to be washed in the blue-gray light
With shivering awe
of goosebumps, like craters,
Ruminations abound in
stone hearts’ illuminations
And in the darkness, the sky
is the visage of campfires
ablaze in a valley below
In red and blue twinkles
stars flicker and echo
light years of stories of folks
These distant lights impel
a soul hopeful
Consolation in constellations
flash glowing eons of wonders beheld
Inspiration and romance
creep softly into every
fold of feeling exposed
Published in: on January 12, 2012 at 12:50 am  Leave a Comment  
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She ain’t heavy, she’s my woman.

Women have gravity within them

Like the ocean, phases of the moon

drive the flow

that keeps their earth fertile

Their magnetic field


and gives weight

to whatever is near

pulling them in

keeping them grounded.

Without the pillars of their strength

they would likely flip

and worldwide chaos would ensue.

Published in: on October 18, 2010 at 12:38 am  Leave a Comment  
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Silent Night

When the neighborhood rests
snug in their stucco nests
and the air conditioners hum
competing with the crickets
and the moon is slung low
in the midnight horizon
you will find me
all agaze and in revel
of the peace and the still
The porch is the precipice on the edge
of my sweet silent world,
infinite swirls of tranquility
the air that surrounds me
breathe wide and smooth
I’ll have a slow dance with my cigarette
let the mosquitoes get their appetites whet
and linger in my mecca
until exhaustion grabs me
with its imperious undertow
and stuffs me headlong
into quaint pockets of dizzy dreams
Published in: on July 2, 2010 at 1:08 am  Comments (6)  
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The Voyage of the Enigmatic Body

The back is the Pacific Ocean of the body

so vast and open

it’s ridges, exposed islands

and ribs like ripples

rolling towards the shore


The arms are the maps of the body

with trails, tracks, story-scratched

highway veins, tattooed names

and territories light and dark,

half sun-marked

and hands that tell you where to go


The eyes are the moons of the body

glowing, round radiant,

distant and ofttimes cold

celestial and mystic

piercing through you and millions of miles away all at once.


The hair is the clouds of the body

swirling, curling around those lit moons

Sometimes calm and sometimes stormy,

drifting over mountains and oceans

always in motion


The shoulders are the mountains of the body

bearing the weight of the world,

buried in the mist of clouds

standing tall and proud

or bravely chiseled by time


The legs are pillars of the body

often of ruins or great oaks

tested through time

and still erect, if not a little cracked

supporting what was once great

and drawing our eyes to heavens above


The belly is the shore of the body

the land, the sand

where children are raised

and man lays his head

it’s a centrifuge, a core, and more

a middle ground worth fighting for


the bosom is the tree of the body

with two red leaves

bearing fruit for all to eat

with passing seasons change and wilt

it’s sibylline beauty

almost eternal


The vagina is the spring of the body

welling sublime waters from deep within

giving life

from it’s stark abyss

a fountain that sustains

and nourishes its thirsty patron


The enigmatic body is an earth,

a heavenly creation

of vast planes and craters

harnessing it’s unique and unrivaled

beauty, purpose and divine transformations

and only its climate determines

its inhabitants

Published in: on January 7, 2010 at 2:10 am  Comments (1)  
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The Coming…

Now that things have settled down in my little crumb of the universe, I am back in total control of my thoughts. No longer am I consumed by the robotic motions and seemingly endless stream of preparative thoughts that have cycled through my brain all summer. There has simply been too much to do, and now I’ve hit the brakes. It’s my time.

I am back to having my usual cacophony of random thoughts in poetic tones. Between the megastores’ removal of school supplies and replacing of Halloween props and the changing of the seasons, the giddy antsiness is welling up deep down within me. Already, the air is thick with the farmer’s harvest dust, which brings on the grand, red magnified moons. I have 3 ripe pumpkins. We had our first break from the sun today. Folks, I am hatching plans of my own accord. The sense of contentedness is washing over me like a rogue wave.


Published in: on August 23, 2009 at 10:48 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Midnight Picnic

I shuffle my feet upon the tracks
in the mighty deflector’s blue light
raking in your thankful solitude
he, gaining my full confession,
disrobing my honesty
my arms outstretched
receiving and offering
swallowing the ambiance
shivering my naked soul
beyond control
into a quilted love
that I spread out
for a midnight picnic
I am entirely soaked by your magic
illuminated, again, at last
until your fading beam
slips away from my skin
like shimmering satin
Published in: on March 10, 2009 at 2:02 pm  Comments (2)  
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She glides into the night in silk feathered flight
Her quickening heart rises up to sky.
Reaching for the butter’d cup,
surrounded by the mossy muff
and with his ladle drinks it up
unraveling ribbony silken shreds
from her skin
it begins…
Wings spread, coasting down to snatch
with spoon-billed beak, the catch ,
ribboned silk all around, spirals descending
into the onyx sea.
To make seen the water’s rippling,
moonlit,  upon obsidian wings
He brings her, featherless
to the nest
and dines on blood and thigh and breast
And in the currents of ocean, dark
he lifted a single thread from it’s stark,
a silken ribbon to weave
among the twigs and moss and bones,
his throne, a trophy case
a resting place
and her beak tossed among the downy pile
the aftermath of a hungry night.
Published in: on February 17, 2009 at 12:22 am  Comments (1)  
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Alone upon a starry night
Cuddled up with the mighty moon.
Surrounded by the golden light.
Waiting, evaporating soon.
Engulfed by a terrestrial light
Drowning in a void of depth.
Alone beyond the starry sky,
Luna almost stole my breath.
Published in: on October 4, 1993 at 10:14 am  Leave a Comment  
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