Friday, June 21, 2013


In the darling moonlight
And wrapped up in my signature three layers,
I walked from chair to shoes
And from shoes to car
As if it were the most arduous of odysseys.
Following the staggered lines
Solely because of nagging muscle memory,
I drove to the lake,
Where summer bodies
Had left the earth for a moment,
Pulled back down to the dark waters
By only the warmth and promise of life
And the laughter of friends.

In my desperate sorrow I expected to meet the laughter again
Expected the universe to finally say “Alright,
This one’s had enough.  Joke’s over, throw him a bone.”
I expected to meet the beckoning kiss of family
That filled the mid-august air
And sent sparks through the life-giving waters.

At the all-too familiar response
That silence readily gives,
The sadness found me, my guard abandoned,
And drenched my skin.

These words, sparsely read,
And taken only partially to mind,
Are the agents of one desperate call,
Born at the unfriendly moonlit lake:
Let there be eyes that call my life beautiful

When the silence assures that it isn’t to me.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

get a room, U2.

I wait on mornings,
When the summer sun spills in through windows
In a golden wash
And silhouettes the doors with latent energy.
Inhaling the musk of grass and insects and mountain trails
From the blessed vantage point of our back porch,
The dark night hours that lay behind me
Are all but erased.

But memory keeps these afloat,
These night hours with near-drowned eyes
Wide with the sight of the cold beyond,
And calls them again
When fear deems them useful.
Fear that rises in the throat
In darkened hallways
As pale women with haunted, filmy eyes
And strangled, guttural throats
Crawl like skeletal spiders past every corner.
Morning, with her smiles
And promises of light and life,
Is yet always malleable to the dark spirits
That crouch in shadows
Surrounding the prize of heavily needed sleep,

And the fear keeps me at a distance.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Fire & Ice

I’m not your friend
Until maybe tomorrow
Or Tuesday
My schedule is somewhat hazy
I could never pick the candy bar I wanted.

I’m not a disposable camera
I’m not an expendable employee
I’m not your favorite toy
Grown old and dusty and thrown to the corner
I will not be a soda can
Drained of its purpose and crushed into a pile
Of un-purposed matter
Although I know I’m deserving of it.

On windy days like this,
I would give my heart to be a buffeted tree,
To waver but retain that grip on the ground,
No more being dragged to unknown terrain
And dropped, disoriented, struggling to find my way
Back to the empty hole
Where I had just been standing.

I’ve said before
I feel as though I’ve lived ninety years
In twenty year’s time
Without the happy accomplished memory
That sometimes comes with age
Now I believe I’ve only lived an instant
Because past and future are both pictures
That continually flash and are burned
Because the only proof that they both exist
Is in my condescending scars
And the hope that sometimes fills me up.

Saturday, November 3, 2012


It’s been articulated in every direction,
Spilled from its carton by a boisterous child
And it’s dripping off the edges of the counters
And leaving footprints through the halls.
Some could say
It no longer needs attention,
And some could say
The mess it has left
Ought to be cleaned and sanitized.

But despite its history of chatter,
Love maddens me
As though a wire were strung through my chest
And looped around my heart,
And the further you walk away from me,
The more it burns,
The further I’ll walk where you lead.

The stories that do not leave me
That color my dreams
And sharpen my days
Hurricane around me with great force
And you, inexplicably,
Are standing with me at the center
You are the keystone in songs
That itch in my ears
And fill my skull with eerie light.

Some could say
That without you on this earth,
Beauty would pass through me like a window screen
Unconscionably unnoticed,
A golden spindle wrapped in graying thread.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

lithium carbonate

London’s on her way
Back into my eyes and ears
Like fog sinking down from the celestial plane
And wrapping round the weathervane.
Words come slower than they did,
Catching up their coats and dashing from the unemployment line
To see what the new development is and, hopefully,
To get a graveyard shift.

The sound of rain on the darkened asphalt of Palace Court,
Of tin foil clenched in a child’s fist,
Comes rampaging out of an unswept corner of the year previous,
And drenches me in fear,
The kind that fills up your answering machine with unrelenting calls.
The broken heater, the glass-top table,
And the loquacious sound of letters being opened,
Followed by sinking news of home,
These things bury me.