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 [...]
Tag: writing
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 [...]
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 [...]
Pirate’s Den
it was a mission i never meant to accept a treasure hunt for a chamberlain’s key a silver cypher with a face like a lion and an emerald-studded crown that was stolen by a pirate on a ship full of moonshine who brandished a heart-shaped sword, that infamous thief and lord of the island of [...]
Artificial Paradise
even the desert had forgotten the rose and the skinny glass house in which she’d kept it {that which shakes us from the grip of our totalitarian nightmares and rescues us from the sinking sands of a thousand deserts and the hundred or so oddities that parade across our eyelids while we’re fast sleep} a [...]
Cut to Black
the film switches to men on their backs, they’re our real heroes, surfing on the chemical pink underbelly of a fertile sky they’re our whiskey dreamers the soft dancers, the coronet of half-naked bodies blown down by a puff of incense and a hit of stale tobacco it is a scene that begs for rearranging [...]
