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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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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On the same Page

On the same page 12.10.14

Time in a taffy pull

How I wish to linger longer
In your sweet and supple arms
Alas the cruelty is much wronger
When we must peel ourselves apart

With all the sugar in the seconds we share
I’d think you’d be able to stick around
But we heed clocks that do not care
And I wish we could stretch the hours out

With all the confection in our affection
Could we put time in a taffy pull?
Our days, eons then, long and thin
Sanctifitious saccharin sentiments
That never end

Like butterscotch discs dissolved slow under tongue
I wish the patience trumped the clock’s impending crunch
I would suck for centuries long
until you were the smallest speck

But obligational oligarchies bite hard
Cracking the savory snack into inedible shards
Minutes are fragments meant to be tragic
When time should be malleable candy elastic

Published in: on April 2, 2013 at 10:34 pm  Comments (3)  
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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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bend space and time

with your mind…

when you can bend spoons?

I’d bend you behind me,

and spoon for an eternity.

Instead of summoning foreign galaxies,

I’d use my telepathy

to let you have a scoop of me

Or hell, we could just levitate

and bend our limbs in figure eights

But I digress

Let’s make a mess

Blow each others’ minds and telekinect

We’ll bend the big dipper

get deeper, shred zippers

and around our little fingers, wrap time winding

watch stars shining

as they shift,

wielding the hourglass’ drift

of cosmic glittering gun powder

into our ever curving endless hours.

Published in: on November 27, 2012 at 12:29 am  Leave a Comment  
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From across a table
in a dimly lit restaurant
The traces
of your face washed over with want,
The haunt of hunger,
A carnal hunger
Bobbles on your quivering brow
lock-eyed, a silent sigh spawns a
saliva surging mouth
The air between us grows thick
With sultry stick
And how
All the stars thud to the earth
As the girth of the air
In our momentary tension
Drags them there
No sparks or blitzkriegs avert our stare
This silence,
intentional and intense
Dictates my first entree:
Biting the inside of my lower lip
And it seems clear, quite
That if I
In this chair, remain
Will devour myself,
My entire self
And it only seems fair
That we, ourselves excuse
For there is so much to savor,
And no time to lose.

Published in: on November 10, 2012 at 11:19 pm  Leave a Comment  
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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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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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Chew it Slow

We’ve all got a lot on our plate

Typical American gluttony

Swallowing time like cheeseburgers

Every serving, a heap too big

To go right back and fill it up again

Shovel it in.

Go here, do that, volunteer, cheer, soccer, career

We can’t afford to sip the drive-thru latte slow


“Serve us seconds of wind so we can go again, again again.”

It’s the 5k we’ll never win,

(someone forgot to tell us there is no end)

Viagra, super-size me peckers,

4 hour erectors,

it ain’t no good ‘less it’s a marathon

Unwanted commitments are stacked buffet high,

and washed down with half-assed accolades.

We’ve all bitten off more than we can chew,

and we will choke on the ambition.

Me? I want to relish each taste of each minute

slowly quenching my soul;

every morsel of every millisecond dissolving on my tongue.

I want to feel the wind blow through my hair

and pause long enough to ponder what it means.

If you can’t taste it, you’ll never be satisfied

If you can’t pace it, you’ll never savor life

If you run the rat race,

at the end, you will find

somebody moved your cheese.

Published in: on May 24, 2011 at 10:49 pm  Leave a Comment  
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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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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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