can you see what i see words don’t come easy to the sour blue mind of a biochemical visionary a puzzle in the middle illusions in the shade grill step energetic apex grooves like a 6 a.m. lollipop a lie rings out like a church bell cool mama, facts don’t matter when the dead are [...]
Category: poetry
Devil in a White Room
cue: the big blue easy a claim to love, no, a sense there’s goodness about whenever the walls have no room to listen digging the soft wells the comfort wells the wild breeze where we make shape with our stalk hands with our quivering eggshell throats there, the rain is no spectator no devil in [...]
Seven Road & Other Poems
I am happy to announce that my first poetry chapbook, Seven Road & Other Poems, is now available for purchase on Etsy. (Going forward, you may access a permanent link through the Books tab on this site's main menu.) This book is 35 pages in length and will be printed and hand-bound to order. It contains several poems [...]
Grunge Bones
A short compilation in verse I. to the blue lady in savage clothing who never abandoned a fight, to the smooth skin, the bare-back fortune to the grunge lady the lattice lady arch-angel in a suburban cemetery lady, lady quick, their minds are dying on the vine lady, lady, run with me and forget the [...]
Serpent Ring
there will be heaven in a green house with clairvoyant walls where the stars peep through its sides, a house like a naked eye with an emerald for a rooftop a jewel in the crown of a mile-high fantasy resurrected from deep within the catacombs of sleep it was there in the dining hall where [...]
Rhapsody #1
and the idea of gold skin the idea of expendable eyelashes and a culture like a *STRIP SHOW VORTEX* filtered breasts and machine metal orgasms the idea of a million sustainable artificial trees the idea of wrought-iron senses the idea that something existed first in the rooms where we were born
Surf Lite
Joan Miró, The Gold of the Azure, 1967 —experience of big & small is an eclipse of the fingers & the shadow wasn’t made to stop it milking a thin line between fiction & proportion {our visions are tempered by a suspicion of restless endings} & their distal blue fragrance fills the night like ash [...]
