...if I've expressed them to you

on my bike
at night
until i got to the bridge cause it had a lot of bushes and dark corners
so id turn my music off
then i would peddle really fast so that my wheels wobbled uncontrollably
and id let go of my handlebars
and then frreak out and grab them again
and i'd coast
and i'd look to my side and everything was dark
and id look up and everything was still dark
my bike was black
there was no end
there was no beginning
just a moment in time


there are days for healing hands, and days for breaking them

there comes a time
in every man's life where
he must learn to come to terms
with the terrifying fact
that he has gone about it all wrong.
that every climb is met
with yet another climb.
that the very air they breathe
is poison.
that the tickling feeling
on the inside of their arms
will most likely be there with him
until the very end.

put on a brave face,
a crooked smile.
breathe deep the poison
in the air.

there comes a time
in every man's life where
he must lay among
the pine boughs
and tall grass ,
in a sad valley,
sitting next to a river
at the base of a mountain.
there comes a time
in every man's life where
the noisy din of a city
can loosen the bones
in an overworked body.
where time is a cruel bitch
and satisfying lover
set to pounce
from the shadows.

forget everything
you thought you knew.
forget everything
you have learned.
wait for an exit.

there's enough joy to go around,
and people are holding hands
and laughing on cold beaches.
and there are worn picket fences there
and giggling children.
and there are songs in the air
that seem to hang on for a lifetime.
and books filled to bursting
with beautiful words for the weary.
there are tables with white linen
draped as delicate as a dragonfly's wings,
decorated with food you can taste
for the very first time in your life.
and there are tears on chiseled cheeks,
but I want you to know that it's OK.

there just comes a time
in every man's life.


on sleeping in upturned earth

there was a moment there
that seemed like it could last
suspended and skin deep
and and
and I turn my eyes
from the glare
that seems to penetrate
down to the bone

there’s no sunrise
like today's sunrise
there’s no breath
like the one
anchored in
an anxious touch
I’m tired now


every moment is bright lights

where were we
the day fireworks lit the sky.
leaving streamers of
smoke falling feather like
to earth.
when warm breath flowed
unheeded by expectation
and soft skin flushed


the moment the colors fade is the moment we begin to feel alive

a love poem
for a post apocalyptic

hands dry and
overworked men
that drink too
little and wives
with toothy
smiling through
pain in pretty
and children
in the yard
innocent in up-
turned earth
we've seen the sun
hit our faces
for the last time
we've closed our ears
to the bird's song
to the water's edge
we've grown bored
of running
and instead bathe
in self defeat
and never have
we been so alive


...and with a heaving sigh I feel my chest begin to swell for I'm never alone in the forest

You bringing up music suddenly
reminded me.

There was a song on.
I couldn't hear it,
but knew what it was.
I was walking
a slight hill in a forest

I got to the top and
was relieved.
There was this huge tree there.
Standing straight.
And the bottom was hollowed
I saw a light inside.
I step inside.
And you're crouching
over a fire.

It's you but not you.
I felt like it was.

You lead me outside and say,
"You've made progress, but
we're not quite there yet."

You look up and I follow
your gaze.
There is another hill.
I say, "We?"
You reply, "Yes, silly.
We. I'm going with you."

I felt it was you



oh Christ,
just listen to me
ok, this is
a goddamn lesson
in finality.
this is eat
your heart out
back alley drama
set to the tune
of an enormous
record needle
spinning the rings
of saturn.
words that cut
like a poem,
a death knell
that thunders
from one end of
the world to
the other
on the petals
of a gloxinia.
scratch "incite
a riot" off
your bucket list,
wayward sailor.
jar loose your
jaw bone, oh poets
of this midwest
know what it feels
like to lose
and nothing
at once.
you wouldn't know
oppression if it
took you by the neck
and stuck its tongue
down your throat.
and all i can
offer you vagrant hearts
is the gentle touch
of a cold-blooded
its no wonder
the words escape us,
for we've murdered
one of them.