I have been,

and hearing you…
your every cent or two,
every jerking move,
and yet you prove…
to somehow be,
totally and completely,
shocked to find…
blackened faces,
fill up the spaces,
between the lines…
Hello, big guy!
I will be fair,
I won’t deny,
through my grandeur…
what did,

appear and seem,
to be,
a valiant try…

for your part,
at least
but, then again,

it’s still just,
without compromise,
and really shouldn’t be,
such a novel thing,
that I’m not listening,
after so much,
of the go and touch…
the itchy sting,

fucking redundancy…
see the burning,
behind my eyes,
see the hatred,

please just let me be.
As, so it goes that,
eyes like mine,
chiseled by,
the passing time…

are not destined to see.

20-Hour Lifespan.

Can I fill your palm with trinkets taken away,

from the struggles I’ve come through to get here today?

Can I trail along behind every step that you take?

Can I open my chest and show you the mess that you’ve made?

Try to drive home to you all the notions abound,

like feathery thoughts gently showering down,

can I stay beside you now?


A presence treading with me through the course of time;

a phantom keeping steady hold to this hand of mine;

has it always been with me, here at my side?

has it always protected and watched my blind-side?

why do the stars seem to bleed from my eyes?

like memories of leafy trees and autumn skies?

while the blood boils hotly and I see flashes of white,

my skin’s sensitivity has alerts set on high,

like static electricity reminding me to look alive,

has it always been with me, right here the whole time?





Beautiful, gorgeous, happy glow…
Your Sweetest Nothing’s
put into syllables, for show.
Fiery, wanting…
glued to your face
your mouth’s curves
a daunting place…
I’ve been before
But tell me how – I bow down
into the splinters and cinders
that litter the floors
like your long line of whores
I see them all,
I choose to ignore…
You never answer questions
your many Life Lessons
have taught you little of
the snap inside my rubber glove
We are meant to Own our possessions.
Are we not?
You have seen quite a lot
Of my flesh,
Camera flash;
digitalized dash
in red LED text;
what now?
Onto the next…
Or am I wrong?
Am I dumb
To play along?
See here’s the thing:
I see the strings
Attached to each one
Of your crispy clean
I see the line of
Space and time,
wrapped inside
Of that tattoo –
You were too pure
to follow through…
this hurts miserably;
Yes you , yes me.
Look away if you must
Your face is too much
to see, anyway.
Just go on about your
fashionable way.
You were fine before
I came along
In my string bikini thong
to knock upon your door;
You’ll be fine now,
and I guess…
so will I, somehow –
Just forget it all,
my cries and calls,
forget me
don’t see me…
don’t see me fall.
You won’t believe me,
Your ears don’t hear
a word I say.
Go fucking play
As you have,
each and every day
as it’s passed.
What was that?
What did you say?
“Score?…Because of…?”
And you’re talking about
How I showed
my bare ass to you –
For that,
I counter you:
Mr. Fashionably True,
I hope this finds you well;
I hope it reaches you;
And hits you
makes you hurt
as you’re looking up my skirt…
What’s the score again?
Mr. Hockey Man –
dead red battery
flashing in your corner screen,
you don’t know the bones
that construct Lil’ Ol’ Me,
nothing taken seriously…
so fuck yourself,
good and hard –
multiplied by twelve.
I am a star,
And I will shine in Hell –
Quit kidding yourself.


In the weaving of the fabric,

that has been sewn by magic,

stitched by an unseen thread,

that strings from my heart,

to the thoughts in your head.

has gradually wound,

its way tightly around,

Any word written down,

infused into shades of dark red,

It’s a thing that’s profound,

that will never be dead,

It’s the basic compound,

On which forever’s been found,

And forever wildly bounds,

in hurried steps ahead,

of this weaving thread,

you bet we’ll chase it down,

it’s a distant sense,

in the past tense,

of being led around,

See the liters that I’ve bled,

See the patchwork on my neck,

It’s alright”, somehow,

that’s what they said,

You’ve been mended now”,

as I’m sifting through debris,

you showed up to stare at me,

as I rummage through the wreck,

not mockingly,

but longingly,

distinguished and correct,

your mind spun silently,

trying to throw a line to me,

to get me to connect,

and the threaded weave,

spun invisibly,

and I think you know the rest.


Cinder Blocks.

I want sit at the hearth of your manhood,

and stoke the fire to dangerous heights,

stir at its white-hot cinder blocks,

fuel the embers of its dark corners,

you burn like fire,

in my heart – in my mind,

in my skin – a temperature rise,

emblazoned, emboldened,

a singe at the touch that’s so very right

beheld by the highest of the high,

as well as the beggars of the night,

you’re made up of the stuff,

that speaks directly to my concubine,

not a nano-second passes by me,

without warmth of a cosmic heat,

like a fire burning steadily,

slurping out my poetry,

like a vampire of pure lovability,

like a conflagration of flames,

dirty words and silly pet names,

I want to make you see,

tell me, do you see?

Is it “you”, or “me”, or is it “we”?





Long Night.

Early on,

the night is long,

you trail me,

by a sturdy lead,


are your eyes,

to perceive,

how readily,

I follow along,



by your song,



loud and long,

played steadily,

laid heavily,

heaves and sighs,

the fall and rise,

in ecstasy,

in submission,

across a knee,

white flag waving,

daylight fading,

into the pull,



make-up smearing,

clothes disappearing,


full nudity,


by your tender mind,

and your touch,

leaves me,

crossing my eyes,

seeing flashes of light,



rivers rush deep,

the mouth to the sea,






A Story in My Pocket.

The prize strung ahead of the nose,

when you catch the undertow,

and then quite suddenly,

wood is whittling,

reality is spinning,

the line between is thinning,

and all you can really perceive,

through your constant scrutiny,

is the cause of this heavy feeling ;

through the flaws of space and time,

you vaguely make out this form of mine,

balanced on scales made of porcelain,

ankles broken,

eyes wide open,

you shouldered my weight a while,

you ordered the return of my smile,

splinted my legs and marched me away,

you slipped a story into my pocket,

and it started and ended with truth.




The branded letters of your name in dark calligraphy,

carved out by Forever’s river subcutaneously,

to the bone, through the veins, tattooed in crimson ink,

the treasure that I favor ascribed in arcane lettering;


In the distant future dissolve the sutures sewn by time,

I suck the poison from your wound and put a twinkle in your eye,

you suck the fear from this defeated spirit of mine,

you will bask in my trust and I will harbor your pride;


the hand-written book bound together with twine,

unspeakably strong, fit to tow on the line,

a secret alphabet soup eaten by passing time,

words rung through to soothe my aching mind.







Blades of silver-lined grass have cushioned the fall on my ass –

once again, I take a hostage and somehow inch my way passed;

fingers shake too much to hold still: my pistol at will;

thoughts racing too far ahead of me and going too fast.


Trees bearing perfectly painted Paper-Mache fruits –

line the mirage of roads that lead so far from the truth;

it turns out anyway: when the sun sinks every day,

it’s nothing more than another trick played on me, too.


The moon hangs up high only long enough to revive –

the parts of this pirated vessel that can “look alive”;

but then it once more – gets replaced just like before,

a solar mockery of a lunar will to simply survive.


The cardboard doors fall in as soon as the knocking begins;

a façade made to look like there’s humanity within;

templates of bodies without faces – drafted in pencil-thin traces,

erases the faces away where the canvas wears thin.


Wrapped stupidly inside a snuggly blanket of lies;

happy and obliviously beneath a tissue paper sky;

soothed to death – by my very breath;

too tired to break down and too numb to wonder why.


And everyone says I’ve lost my mind this time;

in which case, the truth has been quite unkind –

it stands, aloof – evidence doesn’t spell ‘proof’;

enlightenment so poisonous, it leaves the sun blind.

Broken Be Our Bread.

I’m standing in,
the fading rays,
of your shine,
and, as it fades,
away from me,
into a shade,
of washed out gray,
muted memories,
of brighter days,
a better time,
I can’t rewind,
stuck on auto-play,
the things we said,
promises made,
yours and mine,
fear and dread,

push back instead,
relations forbade,
teardrops cried,
both misty-eyed,
fast-forward to today,
it’s enough, instead,
buck the brick blockade,
as hard as I can bang
with my own head,
cracked opening,
brightest of red,
the blood we bled,
so many times,
yours and mine,
broken be our bread.


You don’t need
to know the science of
how a supernova glows,
in order to see,
so vividly
with clarity
these scars;
I sport them
proud, like how,
you probably sport
your caviar,
your mini bar,
Cuban cigars –
Dom Pérignon,
this bores me;
shall I go on?
act like you don’t
secretly adore me,
lips sewn closed,
you’re confusing me…
how should I
have somehow known?
It’s not like
it’s rocket science,
my compliance,
I’m submissive
ever renewed,
do I ring true?
You bet I do…
Big Man
spin my head
around the room,
you’re mad because
my spirit doesn’t
comprehend the likes of you…
But you know the feeling…
good and well, too…
don’t you, Blue?
Mr. Passive Aggressive
in designer
spit-shined shoes…
never did I question
what the fuck
I see in you…
your horns curl inwards,
just the same as mine both do –
you’ll see no surprise
in my open eyes,
I’m already onto you;
too ornery
too lonely
to look me in the eye,
even on the days
when they happen
to stay dry…
no time,
you’re driving,
or flying,
or speed-writing…
no time to talk to,
the Ace up your sleeve,
make my heart
childishly and stupidly
waste time in belief,
of anything
more than what,
we were, already,
turn inward again,
can’t open your eyes
unable to stir,
the ash back to fire,
this place is absurd,
chasing the promises,
made inward.

Pleased for a King.

Stand tall and silent in the face of me;
against the trickery of the Milky Way…
in compliance with the God of Defiance;
forget ever seeing me broken this way…

This prayer is born of necessity;
these pitiful tears turn out to be mine…
I again, come back to feel your whip crack;
I’ve been lost: following the eyes of blind…

Please grant to me: your moments asleep;
I’d be pleased if a King was to still dream of me…
don’t cast me too far beyond your sovereign reach;
please circle back for me, before you finally leave…

Without your presence of balance, I’ve lost my way;
I need your conversation and I want feel your kiss…
time to act, no holding back another single day;
what’s most important here is that we can still do this…

Palms up to push at the bottom of your heart;
but you cursed and swatted me away…
I bet you will look for me here eventually;
after I died waiting to see that “someday”.

Hurt So Right.

Oh so much pressure,
building up
inside of
my eyes;
Know that I measure,
many crumbs
in spite of
my size;
For whom I treasure,
to perceive
tonguing the seams
of my mind;
Steeping with pleasure,
belting out
aloud and proud
my cries;
Too low down to measure,
climbing up
the liquid tendons
chopped cleanly rough;
Oh so much pressure,
blue, passive-
I love the ride.


I have been listening
and hearing you
your every cent or two
every jerking move
and yet you prove
to somehow be
totally and completely
shocked to find
blackened faces
fill up the spaces
between the lines
Hello, big guy
I will be fair
I won’t deny
through such grandeur
what did indeed
appear and seemed
a valiant try
for your part
at least
but, then,surprise…
It’s still just me
without compromise
and shouldn’t be
such a novel thing
that I’m no Lady
after so much
of the go and touch
fucking redundancy
see the burning
behind my eyes
please just let me be
so it goes that
eyes like mine
are not destined to see.