Tuesday, September 30, 2008


6. 15. 2008

Your hands and feet...
I like the bony places
where I can see your 
fragile framework.
Every interlocking part
that makes you -simply. 
Layers after 
that make you 
remarkable-  remarkably. 
Against all odds
against all expectations.
I like the thick skull 
that anchors your black hair

the deviated septum
that makes you snore
then quieter 
when I kick you. 

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Color Wheel

November 14, 2007

I miss your blue cashmere coat
Your black Honda CRX
Our white bird house
The yellow dollhouse doorbell
Your moments of pink compassion

That seem to have been replaced
by this sea-green depth between us.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

boiled eggs

I am realizing a great many things these days
like the 
should have dealt with this differently feelings
of unsophistication 
that accompany
the filling of voids with 
drunken desperate fucks
on late lonely Saturday nights
and hazy early Sunday mornings
rife with ulterior motives
and hiding true feelings
with a thin veil of 
Cool Hand Luke indifference
slipping through the floor boards
when the warden ain't lookin'
the "i don't want anything serious" lies 
told when one knows they have 
and been cast aside
thrown away

the unwanted 
wanting so much

having no idea what we really want 
at all

wishing we could eat 50 boiled eggs 
to prove our worth

ain't nobody can eat 50 eggs.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008


I want that right-brained brilliance
that accompanies mental illness.
That invisible inner-cerebral muse
whispering a poetic genius.
I want that megalomania -
The imagined greatness
born of melancholy
raised by decades
and immortalized in anthologies.
The sexual deviancy in the past
that haunts and whispers
and be brilliant."

Monday, September 8, 2008

Late Nights (a haiku)

It is scary how
little it actually
has to do with love.