and everyone

you ever loved

will one day

find themselves

at a crossroad—

where you’ll be


pocketing fists

hunched like a Lily,

or else dancing

ripped like paper

on a wall full of flowers

looking lovely—

except they won’t know you

anymore, not anymore

than you know your own self—

cheeks, rosy as embers

the lush on the floor,

I’ll know his name well

you bet I’ll be singing—

So best get to knowing,

before you regret

a lifetime pretending

you’ve remembered only

to forget.

Ashes to Ashes

There’s no denying that’s a pretty face
There’s no excuse still for being late
The corner store’s got a sale on
Greeting cards that sell have price love
There’s truth in breathing at an even pace
There’s beauty bending to bear the weight
Now either way you feel overwhelmed
Exchanging coffee for whiskey now
I’ve got a big bad wolf of a habit
Full of hot air and over dramatics
Got a house built solely of glass when
I huff and puff well nothing happens
I gave her cashmere for Christmas once
She gave me friendship when I had none
There’s proof in putting a sweater on
The back of someone you’re giving up
I’ve got a big bad wolf of a habit
Full of disdain for love when I have it
Got a house built solely of glass and
No stones left to throw just ashes ashes

Our Herded Hearts

I’d rather cringe

in ecstasy, than

quiver in disgust.

We revel

in redundancy

it’s all we have to trust—

ourselves against the odds

initials on a wall, each letter

carved with dignity—

till dignity is lost.

We’re clueless

with the clues,

useless feeling used.

Each hopeless

a romantic, each helpless

as romance is.

And we can smell our own,

like cattle led to slaughter,

knowing that we’re next.

Our herded hearts must witness

each blow before our last.


With it I feel


Without it

I feel Something

It is I as I is it

And can be many things

A pebble in the shoe

A headache after dark

A dismal brackish thing

That I wonder if it feels

Something without me?

It’s probably for the best

To leave it alone.

This Boys Life

If it sounds like suicide

It’s probably suicide

If it doesn’t, then

It’s probably suicide

You see. I’ve got to toy with it

I’ve got to play with it

Let it tangle me in knots until

I’ve grown tired of its tricks, until

I’ve acquired a finer taste

For those brief honest moments

Just before sleep, letting him go

Pillow breathing in peace, with it all

And how it had to end, in order for

This boys life—to begin…

Golden Hearts

How long have you been kicking

Rocks that turn to dust

Destroyed by what’s been filling

Your golden heart with rust

That tree that you’ve been climbing

Tell me where it leads

Across a moonlit river

Among the frightened leaves

It’s someplace quite worth knowing?

It’s quite a sight to see

Where devils dance and parlay

Come fire walk with me

The path of least resistance

It’s trampled in the weeds

Excuse my cheap persistence

I’d follow if you’d lead

The rocks that I’ve been kicking

Each mineral’s a must

To know when I’ll be ready

To rebuild you from dust

A Dog On Ice

It’s not often that she likes my stuff

Maybe one poem a season

Four poems a year

It’s enough to break me down

It’s enough to get me drunk

until she tells me I’m a fool

Which is enough to bring me back

In the Winter


In the Spring time like a flower

And by Autumns moon

With the goblins and the ghouls

She dances

like a dog on ice

And tells me my head looks big

when I get too thin…

So for that, I know

I can trust her