a smudge of starlings
murmurs through the morning fog;
night slowly disrobes.
(December 12, 2014)


O, Lover!
Embrace my Darkness!

(November 24, 2014)

Whip Stitched

I dissemble my parts
rendering what integrity
remains into lies
to feed the beast’s
hard laughter.
I listen, eyes wide,
a ventriloquist’s puppet
trying to speak
from someone other
than myself.
I am a mockery
slurred through bruised lips.
The loose patchwork
does little to disguise
the hand at my heart
fingering each blood drop
until it relents
any semblance of truth.
(November 22, 2014)


turn into the wind to make your way home
there is no other way back to yourself
so easily you fell away for love
or perhaps a misplaced desire’s better
terminology for what twisted you
down rabbit runs like some misbegotten
Alice into an alternative tale
so that the trip back requires reflection
of a sort usually demanded
from ideologically deviant
folk when they are forced to erase their lives
in order to believe what they’ve become
has always been the story they have told
when the differences they have lived are gone

(November 16, 2014)

the emptiness of a room

“even forgetting has its shape in the permanent reality of change”
                        –Rainer Marie Rilke
I look through a space
back into a space
fixed and transcendent
less of me than more
more of me than less
 a jar without a lid
without a hill without
like slow marbles
inside a glass ball
slipping on ice
an expansion away
from either or
from outside to in
from me to some other

(November 14, 2014)

Dad’s Last Breath

From decades of Tareytons,
his breaths usually came
quickly ragged,
one upon the other,
like the rough scales
layered along the length
of a red bass’s
slick body;
but this time,
his lungs grasped
desperately after
the exhale’s rasp.
Like a swimmer
tired and falling
beneath the relentless
pulse of the sea,
he gasped at an air,
which was not there
for him

(October 20, 2014)

with a stroke vision breaks

his vision
like leaves
with the first
light touch
of fall along
the forest edge
in slow crescendos
toward a worn center
wave upon wave
pulses the air
the walls
the conversations
the chairs
like light dancing
across the bay
as day divides
the horizon
into sharper
halves of blue
his resonate mind
until it shatters
like ice
(October 18, 2014)


the moon bleeds tonight
beneath the weight my back aches
another month gone

(October 8, 2014)


some lost
what was left
of their soul
some laughter
some their tears
others sighed
away hope
after years
and years
until even
the dust
of their shadows
had disappeared
(October 7, 2014)

Leavings the Dead Stutter

As ritual replaces love,
ravens circle the field;
their black eyes survey
the ground’s cold wreckage.
Beneath fluttering wings
and caws, today’s blurred
light bathes my vision
with a new absolution.
Steam rises with the sun.
Morning dew mixed with blood
dampens all with a cold dead
sheen. The ravens land as one.
Turning my eye skyward,
I moan once, then lie still.

(October 3, 2014)