Saturday, January 24, 2015

a lifetime

in the silvergrey afternoon in the
last year of freedom had a
reason to love you and my hands on
fire my teeth filed down to
points had a photograph of god
had his address his number and all of
those children starving in the
streets w/ their bright
shiny tears

all of those days spent waiting
for the phone to ring

digging holes to
bury the unwanted dead


young boy on fire and
singing beneath the colorless sky
all sweetness and regret and
where are the people who
said they loved him?

where is the future that was
supposed to grow from his 

titles available directly from me

shoot me a message for pricing, all payments thru paypal


instructions for drowning.

the sum of broken parts

uncertain terms

Sunday, January 18, 2015

joy #1

all lines equal to the
heart of the matter and then
all acts justified

all deaths avenged
and then again
until every ocean is an
ocean of blood

are you so goddamn stupid
that you can’t see this?

do you really believe
power is the answer?

picture your corpse rotting
next to mine
and no one left to care

To the sky

Job like a gun to the head but the bills
need to be paid and the children fed.
Gotta heat the house through those
dead days of January where everything
tastes like ashes and blood.  Gotta
crawl when you’re told to crawl.  Grind
all that shit & filth deep down into
                                           yr soul.


Tuesday, December 23, 2014

birthday song, for dorothea

with dreams of metal towers
and of static, dreams of silver skies
and then waking up

the here and now is a fist
and so the future can only be
whatever pain comes next

i have no other truths

have only one hand that holds and
the other that pushes away

have only scar tissue and
empty ideals and with the music

up loud enough the sun
makes no sound at all

the baby sleeps beneath
the shadows of passing clouds

wakes up crying softly
just as the air runs out

Saturday, December 20, 2014


chasing headlights down december
back roads, not yet 6:30 and
already full dark

half-moon and sleeping houses

this man with
a mouthful of poison

wants to show you how easy it is to
hurt you
then wants you to beg for more

absolute zero when the knife goes in

small wooden cross on the
living room wall
cop pulls the trigger and
the child is dead and how far do you
have to look to find someone

for how much longer will we
allow ourselves to
be a nation of assholes?

been a long
fucking time already



Sunday, November 02, 2014

self portrait w/ nude, on fire

and then late afternoon shadows and
the stuttering scratch of
leaves down forgotten streets 

the shadows of lovers, of
unwanted children and forsaken saints 

god and then no
god and then
all of the days i waste waiting to
                              see you again 

an empty room filled with ordinary ghosts and
no one says we have to be here but
no one gives us permission to leave 

this is called the art of standing still 

this is pollock in the
seconds before his death 

not acceptance but panic and
not understanding, not

not ever

and i keep telling you this but
you still aren’t there