Exhibitions

you and me kid

right back where we belong

between the wars

with 

miro

dali 

chagall

with oblong heads

and geometric bodies

filled to the brim with primary colors 

and political agendas

tired lonely pissed

and that sculpture looks like wood

from far away

but if left outside 

wood would rot

so we both know its not. 

10/28

I heard a wild crash two blocks to my right.

They had knocked a piece of the sky loose

during construction.

It was blue and serene

except for the one shard dangling

over the clock tower. 

It is the oldest building around here;

The only one with a clock.

I guess I was the only person to hear.

Or just the only one to stop. 

Word Riot

Keep an eye on the poetry section of  www.wordriot.org

"Quandaries" and "Underground" will be showing up in one of their future publications.

Moustache and a Trumpet

I listen to the universe
and suddenly I am a
history in rust
thrown back to
long wintry
drives
through Ontario
buying donuts
at our last chance to use
US currency
forgetting gas is
measured in liters
up here
where the air is thinner
and my heart beats quicker
just remembering you
and I
doing
making
saying
thinking

Learning Commons

the uppers and the downers got
in a fight inside my head
thought someone was breaking in the house
and the imagined creaks and
bangs of robbery
interrupted the self-induced
orgasm I was
just
almost
I should really lock the door.
Popping pills to stay awake
long enough to work out
all the work
Smoking bowls to fall asleep
long enough to wake up
and work
Self-destructing for success
earning degrees
measuring degrees
of sanity
walking cold bricks home
alone
thoughts racing
waking thin lines between
taking meth head as a compliment
thinking and writing
prolifically
interrupted
"the time is now 11:30 and the library will be closing in 30 minutes
if you wish to remain please move to the learning commons on the second floor"

Sarabande

in some fundamental way
this cello captures
everything that is sad
and beautiful in the world

the hard rain of gray days
the solemnity of funerals
the joy of weddings
the complexity of solitude

with every reverberation of the strings
i remember dark days of
childhood and wonderful ones as well
and i feel peaceful
listening
but inadequate.