Flightless Birds & Fireballs

I am not love, and
lust is no object I possess;
attention is a cardboard city
strung with garish Xmas

I am not man or woman—
my present state attained by
psychosomatic chromosomal

I am not indulgence or delight;
the food I chew is cold and
bland, plucked from a gaunt
metal grid under the pale
light of a wheezing

I am not corporeal, my
two-dimensioned body
won’t be discovered in
sunshine or by dark,
for I have sidled
into a realm of gray
on gray—an endless
archipelago of mist-clung

I am not the skeleton key to
your locked strongbox of
happiness or despair—
not the kindling or the
matchhead to strike
sparks upon your dry

I am not genius, nor am I
revolution at the tip of
a sword, the end of a
gun, or in the gleaning of
catchphrase words on a picket

I am but moth wings,
passed through the slits of
too many fingers—my flight
powder dispersed among the
unstill bodies in a ceaseless side-
walk shoulder rub; wiped
like chalk off a board by
a populous that I can’t call

Earthbound, I sit on a slab—
legs crossed and parted, a
silhouetted jet plane, grounded
on the tarmac by
an inclemency of

I have picked a perch from
which to watch the dusking of
our kind—I bathe in the holy
heat and glow of come-and-go
wildfires, punctuated by the
distant ripples of exploding

And this is how we
end—slathered with
napalm gel, lit on fire in
a frenzied dance of hugs and
handshakes, setting all the
other people ablaze in a
brief, impersonal

But, remember, I am nothing and
I am no one; so, I resign to
watch and wait, and
wonder, before I curl
fetal, drifting into dream,
as one by one, our once-
flames flicker, smolder, and


Thoughts 1/7/2017

Friends, Enemies, Frenemies,

I’ve been a little backed up lately—speaking metaphorically, not literally. While settling into my new role as a member of Sudden DenouementI’ve taken on (what seems to me like) a massive amount of community involvement. I’m rather unaccustomed to it. If I’ve appeared quieter than usual, the former accounts for a large part of the reason. It’s fantastic to interact with so many like minds on a regular basis; I’m still figuring out how to assimilate this new interaction into my routine so’s I can get back to writing, which is why I’m ultimately here.

My depression is another titanic contributor. Now, I’m well-versed in the prose of depression and I don’t use that word lightly, or to describe anything other that what it actually means. Depression isn’t sadness, general malaise, or listlessness—those things are side-effects of a greater condition. Depression is a galloping lava floe—one that we all must ride when it comes for us. We have to float it, kayak it, and keep from being burnt and utterly encased until it gets to where it’s going, cools, solidifies, and allows us to dismount so we may return to our regular lives. I would say that I’m about three-fourths of the way through this one.

Well, that’s it. I just wanted to tune in with anyone who might be listening on the same frequency and apprise you of my situation. You’ve probably seen more social media links appearing on my page, which I encourage you to follow if you enjoy anything my blog has to offer. I’m working on new poems and developing fresh outlets, which I hope will manifest themselves in time.

Loving you all. I wish you the best year ever… in the entire plane of the history of mankind. I mean it.


Thoughts 1/1/2016

The year ends, and so also ends this black-checkered composition book I’ve been scribbling in. Coincidence that the final page is filled on the last evening? Maybe my subconscious drove me to it.

Either way, I am still here—still writing, though you may not know it. I hope that what I have produced is meaningful and satisfying for you. I write for me, but also for you.

I want to thank you all for bearing with me this year. It’s a doozy for the record books, I think. Your readership, love, and support has gotten me through many more difficult days and nights than you will ever know. You have given me a reason. For that, I thank you.

Here’s to fresh starts and bold undertakings.



The Remembering

I go to an oak tree

I summit that hill,
gliding through light, violet

The cuffs of my pants
heavy and rimmed with

a gift from each gentle
blade of meadow grass
that caresses as I

imparting onto me its
lone and hopeful


I climb barefooted,
so that I can experience

the vibrating tones
of a heaving, live

up this narrow path to
visit my friend—

the Ancient Thing—
the one who spreads his
permanent and welcoming

an everlasting invitation
to rest


He is love and wisdom,
and I recline,

my sore spine contours
against his massive trunk, as
my body sinks heavy
into a warm patch of


Many times, we sit in

acknowledging the open heat
of each other’s noiseless

but often, we
exchanging words:
ones with sound and ones


I ask my friend to
show me my love’s

so that, even though in
life we are made
separate, I might see
her for a time, if only in


I have known

and she has a

This wise old tree
indulges me—
allowing me a glimpse, one
that is just an imprint
of the shape of my true


I sit, and I look into
the everything of you—
the one I never want to

the one I won’t

I am, and
wrapped in this
indigo twilight, I

to a sound of leaves,
that rustle high in this
brisk and compassionate


Your love for me may have
atrophied and dried,
shriveled and shrunk with
age and expired—

I will never know.

But mine for you is
like a swelling
tempest, gusting without
letup within the walls of my


Under this timeless oak,
I am allowed to be

unfettered and awake,
free to express and to

I remember you;

in you,
I remember love;

and through you,
I let go of all else.

Midday Thoughts 12/5/2016

There’s still much light left in these eyes, and many more adventures to come. My energy may have been temporarily dispersed, but it is back now—it is more centered and burns more brilliantly than ever.

Thank you to those who read my blog. You have helped me immeasurably. Prepare yourself for a full-frontal poetic assault.




And yes, I’m an adult male who decorates the headboard of his bed with purple Christmas lights. Judge me.

Late Night Thoughts 12/5/2016

Everything I’ve written here—all the past loves, hopes, sadness, and other expressions—is still as true as it was at the moment I penned it. I still love. I still feel. I am still here. I am an organic entity lost in an infinite universe, one who’s desperately trying to understand his place and his purpose. These words are the travelogue of my journey.

I love all those I have lost. I look forward to the loves I have not yet met. I love life and I love creation, and my life is dedicated to exploring everything I can in my limited time with this consciousness of mine.

I believeI believe in decency and rightness. I believe that we can all improve ourselves. I believe in selflessness and altruism. I believe in forgiveness.

I believe in you.

The She Who Wasn’t

I fell in love
with a ghost,
built from
plumes of shadow
and shimmer.

I embraced the
so tightly that
the warmth she
imprinted on my
clothes has yet
to dissipate.

I gifted myself,
in whole and fully,
to someone who
was no one.
And that bargain
cannot be

My heart crumbles
that all I love
is but echo—
one that resounds
so clearly still
within me.

I would mute
the sound of her—
muffle this
vacant song—
If only
I knew how to
make nothing
out of nothing.


If there is to be a counting,
forty-two is what I paid the man.
And no mundane currency did he request—
he asked a far more intimate recompense.

He handed me a large, sharp drawknife,
which I took, and raked its gleaming blade
across the softness of my body,
shedding forty-two strips of flesh,
dropped, wet and limp, like lifeless
snakes that coiled at his feet.

Because all things cost, and
the toll will be exacted,
willingly or not.


Forty-two in pounds; nineteen in kilos.
I tore them from myself with purpose,
because that is what was asked.
Seven by six; nineteen by one—
what was demanded, I met in full,
and now my debt is ended.

I fulfilled my part, without
protest or hesitation, and so
my owing has been satisfied.
I did not question the account—
the one that needed settling—
but I paid its balance, all the same.


The passage of time has made it
evident that this was not
simply an outstanding debt,
but a more-than-fair transaction.
All I gave, in live body and flesh, has
been repaid with generous interest,
in enrichment to my soul.

My spiritual coffers are brimmed
with love and with wonder,
compassion and forgiveness,
with confidence and clarity.


I did not know the Asking Man,
nor did I even try to glance his face,
but he was no deranged Merchant of
Venice, bent on settling a score—
he was both benefactor and guardian:
the source of a new strength.

And to him, I am grateful
beyond measure.


For the one whose debt is yet unsettled,
I am moved by the heart-heavy
weights of empathy and sadness,
for you no longer get to choose the hour,
or the amount, or the currency of paying.

Because all things cost, and
the toll will be exacted,
willingly or not.