6 Aug 2015


He speaks only in quotes

Stolen from the last dying breath of the

Greatest living poets

A core of molten lava bubbles and glows

In place of a real human soul

Oh to be a real boy and

Not a fall down drunk

Oh to get up and go and

Not roll around in

All this shit

All the time

And any presence of mind

Has left him abandoned in a

Midnight parking lot

The single yellow streetlight

A spotlight

Over his broken frame

Mistaken for a halo by all those tossing coins

Into the empty brown hat at his feet.

5 Aug 2015

Ice and other things like it

A slide downhill
Eris cursing you from above
You pretend to steady yourself
Steady your mind

So as not to appear
Or unaware
There is no grip
You just
Allow the icy ground to take you

Logic states there has to be a bottom
An end at some point
You feel that
Breeze on your shoulder
Something passing you at speed

You’re locked in
Locked down
Rabbit in their line of sight
Circling the track
Pulled and pulled
That little box where you started
Has to reappear at some point

Then the level playing field
And mud in your eye
Always moving with the crowd
No traction
Gravity still weighing
Just an extra atmosphere or

And down you go
The sea floor
Head in the diver’s helmet
No peripheral vision
Neck fixed
Locked forward
A little left
A little right and then

Climbing to the surface
Some light has to shine in sometime
Cloud and rain greet you
And colluding remain distant
Hiding every star that would
Guide you.