Press "Enter" to skip to content

Tag: 2023

in joy

12:25pm and the bells rang out
over the walls of city hall
in the rain and we laughed
as we ran to the bus.

October 3, 2023

glad to be

One of the last
beautiful days.

Blue sky still
in the morning.

Lone cricket playing
his lonely tune.

That neglected
atmosphere of

Ragged end of

Fall coloring slender
trees whispering in
an ocean of concrete.

A single piercing of Venus
across that vast unrolling
cloudless day break
reflected as a seamless
horizon in the panes of
a faded store front.

Rattle of plastic and
metal leaves undisturbed
the cool reach of a breeze
along outstretched fingers.

A transformation in
undertones. Indistinct.

Only by illusion made one
or the other.

Only brief as we must see
all things as brief.

A fool's fortune made
by civil twilight.

All alone here and
glad to be.

September 19, 2023

cloudless sky

I've lived under a cloudless sky
where everything is literal,
weather by the calendar,
all drama internalized.

I prefer virtual worlds, perfect one
dimensional riverbeds, shining day
and night, a meaningful grind, empty
of needs, empty of want.

The shoe-leather world is a spinning
wheel, a destructive boredom, an
empty wallet. I can't vanish
anymore. I haven't seen
fireflies in so long, heard
a cricket, been prickled
by green leaves.

I see the sun.

Gold scattering behind gray
feathers. I sit on this concrete
couch beneath a tree planted
exactly eight feet from its
neighbor, its leaves too
sparse to shelter me
from the rain.

Tick tock.

Silver bird
with rigid wings
crosses the sky at
escape velocity, up into
a future I don't share.

I'm more attuned to the crows
on the lamp poles, croaking
over the roar of traffic,
or the silent seagulls
who've traded their
beaches for dumpsters.

The sun has risen into
the clouds again.

There's a gap,
like I could reach
my hands into that
warm sky and wrap
my arms around a
treasure worth
holding, a story
worth telling.

It's that imperfect
future that drives me
forward, that unwanted
kinship with the unfinished,
the incomplete.

But a backlit pixel closes the
synaptic gap and mocks my
analog heart.

It's time to clock in.

August 22, 2023

when we speak

when we speak we
plant seeds flow from
sounds ideas drawn into
a pool inside a web of words
do you can you say you reach
upright into flowering hope
up above lifting eyes to
meet an emerald sky
lighting up an internal
heaven overhead or
are you dragged
down by sticky
tar tendrils
down beneath
the crust of dis-
appointment dis-
illusionment dis-
connection along
an electrical shock
overwhelmed by
the tidal flow of
cognitive wavelets
flowing flowing internal
emptying out into a darker
night what was day before
you disgorged your hollow
internalizations of self pity
onto sensitive organs
primed to bloom
what seeds fall
upon warm
soil unknowing
fruits green and hard
might mature into soft
ripe tambourines shaking
ringing ringing an absent
song of peace and what
might have been a
weighted groan of
borne burdens
becomes instead
an exhalation striped
by day's bright promise
and a nod with a hidden
embrace for what
you brought that
i couldn't myself
bring today
and with
those words
tomorrow tomorrow
might myself bring to you.

August 21, 2023

three sheets

i could sleep in a bathtub
sweet dreams of clean sheets
in that pool of summer heat
shimmer swoon
soft pillows warm water
damp hair in a breeze
over bare skin under
moonlight square
drips cricket song
toesies in clean sheets
still cool sheer 
in purple solitude
electric soother
smoothing naked
skin over 
clean sheets
towel dry
in a pool
of soft
summer dreams.

August 2, 2023

Simple Town

put aside in fast forward, the
best part of the day happens
when i'm not there, head down
the long march from alarm
clock to time clock to alarm
clock to time clock, darkness
to darkness, work farm work-
ing work fam in endless motion
of trivialities for a sequence
of numbers ejected behind
unhappy bars, left untended
i stand in a puddle and cry,
so i queue up a life on rails
at the sink, to tend, to clean,
to cook, in ten minutes i
forget ten hours, trading
one pair of shoes for an-
other pair of shoes, head
down the long march from
alarm clock to time clock to
alarm clock to time clock,
bearing so often the
artificial  burden of
artificial light, i miss
the warmth of
blessed day,
the sun-

July 31, 2023

I choose

I chose mother
you chose wife;
pattern overlap
re-cognition for life.

To serve, to comfort,
to clothe and feed;
I'll meet you where you are
and follow where you lead.

July 25, 2023

run away

we are the new
the runaway bus.

the driver doesn't know
that the driver has

the wheel spins. we jump
in our seats. a generation
flashes behind glass.
framed in steel.

we believe in the road. but
the driver has ascended.

we clutch at the periphery.
the engine screams.
there are no brakes.

we jump to the
beckoning of
the driver.
the driver has ascended.

July 18, 2023


i bathe
in that moist
envelope, that blur
about that most poisonous
star, that progenitor, that
devilish singer of flesh,
that roaster of green
underlings in red
and black on a
cosmic timer
and the
unfolding folds
back again beneath
a clotted layer of
eyeless love
a hole
the gray

July 8, 2023


the communists,
the Marxists,
the Maoists,
the Democrats,
the progressives,
the liberals,
the activists,
the SJWs,
the children

and the mothers,
the teachers,
the librarians,
the school boards,
the nurses,
the doctors,
the politicians,
the journalists,
the bankers,
the billionaires,
the children

and the pediatricians,
the surgeons,
the insurance companies,
the advocacy groups,
the social media super stars,
the mockingbird media,
the children

and the children's hospitals became

and the great chimneys belched out the
choking black dust of human
medical waste,
a smog,
a blight
of loss and grief

bonds of love
and renewal

excised like
tumors from the
bodies of girls and boys
prostrate beneath
needles and scalpels
and chemicals

human wreckage

carved open,

all cheered on

captured by
their own toxic empathy,
feminine hyper emotive savagery
that bypasses the circuitry of logic,
perspective, suspicion,

the communists said

talk to the children
about sex,

introduce them,
make them comfortable,
groom them,

the teachers taught the seven-year-olds
about having sex in the 'booty hole,'

Planned Parenthood brought cartoon
flashcards with an ABC's of filth and

school libraries, led by
the Marxist head of the ALA,
proudly showcased books
that openly supported

"Don't judge," said one teacher to her class.
"Don't judge someone just because they want to have sex with a five year old."

every drawing of a little girl
is marred by radical mastectomy scars,

every glossary is filled with the language of
obscure sexual deviancy, sexual acts
their parents have probably never
heard of, much less performed,

those parents,
those primal figures,
those males and females,
those work-a-day normies
parasitized by infertile dead-end
unproductive duplicate couplings,

the homosexuals,
the gays,
the lesbians,
the LGBTQ+pedo,

the social super PAC that
stole the show, that wanted
equal rights, then special rights,
that captured the empathetic heart-
strings of America's overeducated youth,
that drag queened the Overton window
wide open, that repackaged sexual acts
into an identity of persecution, then
character, then family, an emblem
of catastrophic unfairness that
only a sociopath could look
down upon with


an army with the
daughters and sons of
mothers and fathers to
storm the ramparts of a
Christian nation for a picket
fenced illusion of normality
shrouded in vitro while
the outrage machine
rumbled on, the
billion dollar
cog wheels

Human Rights Campaign

all the
other self-serving
bottom-feeder fat-cats
who couldn't step away from
the trough, who'd had a taste of
human flesh, who couldn't give up
their sow's ear purses, who'd quietly
added to their menu the children of a
country they hated, a country they'd
undermined at the very roots,
who'd turned the values of


into hate speech,
until the schools,
the governments,
the corporations,
the churches,
the banks,
split open
bloated cadavers
to spew a million serpents
to darken the green land with
the pastel flag of a vengeful
Pied Piper leading children
to the slaughterhouse
to be flayed alive,

of uterus and breasts,
motherhood and future,

into effeminate
eunuchs to serve
in the army of



who stands at the brink of
catastrophic loss and says NO

who steps between the butchers
and the babes and says NO

who kneels in sacrifice, for moral duty,
in clarity of obligation, for the
generations that follow,
and says NO

who says
not in my name,
not in my time,
not here
not now.

I say NO.

Do you?

July 8, 2023

Creative Commons License
Except where otherwise noted, the content on this site is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.