Sunken street
A dark pothole
Out to test my suspension
And demand my attention
Deep like a dog’s ditch
Something lost
Waiting to be found
Just twisting my ankle
Searching for you

Pull Yourself Tougher 

The air is thick with particles
They collide and connect
Like frizzled synapses
Joined by critical mistakes
And constructive heartbreaks
Each moment pulls you together
Until you’re complete
A kaleidoscopic pebble
And as you float through the cosmos
So subtly vast
That you might smother a black hole
You feel the forces upon you
And in a moment
In a word
You are turned to particles once again
The cycle continues here
But decide for next time
If you will be harder to pull together
Or harder to pull apart


It started with a dream
And then it was over
The flagstone uproots
And from the clinging paws of nature
Dirt and dust sprinkle
With a deafening crack
The floor above our heads shatters
What was once dirt and dust
Is now a stony hail

You wake up
The feel of sheets too cold
Too firm
Like a smooth altar below
Or perhaps above
For beneath you is a pattering sound
Of earth into earth
These sorrel raindrops
In clouds of dust

In an instant
The sound of thunder
An explosion
As your back is tattered by fragmentation
Ears unable to hear
And breath unable to keep
You watch the auburn droplets fall

The forecast called for hail
But we feel the warm summer rain
Through the dark clouds
The bodies cannot be seen
The bodies parched and dry
Pinned to altars
These creatures with craglike scales


She’s a maniacal nymph
But not a nymphomaniac
And I was born to nurture her nature
All her astute observances
And acute disturbances
Before her
My life
Was just hours
Of minute occurrences
I persistently insist
On her interests she persists
Don’t change who you are
For to baptize a phoenix
Would only serve to extinguish it
The needle keeps skipping
Recording the record of our record
Such playful memories

Candied Words

Candied words reap brittle smiles
These sweet nothings emerge
Born from the instigations
Of the deepest cavities
Rotten and black
Longing for silver crowns
Yet gouged by Phillips heads
Twisting deeper
With pointed crux

Dark troughs
Seek shining minds
But are never obliged
What’s left is that vacuous wound
Stinging with each breath
And throbbing from each word
And yet we speak
Not for the brittle smiles
But for our own destructive catharsis
At the cost of our patient’s bones


We trade blank page for words
Dark scars slicing to and fro
Cutting so deep that erasure
Offers no true restoration
For the carving still cause ridges
In the white fibers

To know nothing leaves an empty sheet
One that can fold and fly
Unladen by inky scrawls
Bright and simple
Riding the air above
In a way, it is to be envied
I suppose

But dark pages
Stained with graphite
Have their own appeal
For filling a page offers less purity
But incites its fellows
Till a legion of pages,
Though stained,
Become a firm book

And while blissful planes soar
They must always land
On the worn but unyielding backs
Of those willing to sacrifice simple
And tattoo themselves
With the scars of wisdom