Pulling up to the Vine and Hill driveway you drive me mad

With your pin-up braids and neck tie wrists

With red rouge black blue stippled spray-paint makeup

Coat like scatterfall dewstained carpets

Sensuality in divine with rose and jasmine

He took that away from us that day

Your father died

Candles were lit

But no one sat at the bus stop in the rain

Top little bottom high

Round circles in dove balls and lemon-smeared straw

Golden sunrise at dawn and the scissors used to slit his wrists

Some knew him

None confessed

There was no cleanup of the mess

Nothing could have made amends

So it rested

To this day, I pace

I quit smoking

I drink moderately

Vote liberally

The punk guitar band is no more

And ginger cinnamon lattes make their appearance at the breakfast table

With your starlit children of two and five

Regenerating the loss of loss of powerful loss

Under the Earth where worms rip through my nose

And fungus grows

Better Yet

‘Sickle reeved my ribs in two

Clean cuts

Simple meats

Made of me

And sold to the butcher

For gum balls

Per anum

Per pound

Gun fights

At the zoo


Bone by bone

Consumed by lions

Predatory loans

To parents of grandparents

Mystique and miasma

At the kitchen sink

Noxious wake

At the clearest lake

Tinnitus and rash

In the groaning man’s unders

Little pinkie fingers

Obliterated by saw

False propaganda within

Some summer sunsets

Scorch the earth

Dry of food


Destroys societies

Only hope the apocalypse is coming

Only hope the apocalypse is coming, darling

Tell Me, Do I?

The burn-to-a-crisp tender-me-not love of your choice to be


In mind, in place, in disjointed juncture

At the crossroads of this and that

Who cares what, really–it’s all cliche these days

And so it goes that

Summing it up

I liked you, really

The light bulb turns on

There are rotors in the scooter

Scoot Scotaloooooo! Scoot ScotalOOOOOOO!

Something or some such

Without disregard for your sister,



Your moonfall lips hit my back and I am stricken


Stricken like a chicken with its head chopped off

In return for your love I give you blood

The blood of our ancestors

In a vial

Before a stampede

Parading through central park

With the speakers on full

And the cream already spread

Were it not for the shattering of the satellite

The Earth would have seen our synchronous motion

PDE node boundary condition limits

Multiple cycles around infinity

And the parallax of two ice bergs on opposite ends

Melting, melting, melting…

A Pedantic Note

I’ve returned the Like/Reblog buttons to posts. Some folk were able, through the Reader on WP, to Like anyway, so might as well let everyone. You’ll have to go into a Post, though, by clicking on its title from the homepage, before the Like button and # of likes shows up.


Sandpaper Blue

My words like fine sandpaper make the grace of your eyes a discomfiture of knowing lesser known things

Walking the fine line between cradled sensuousness and raving insanity

We tend to our flowers better than they do

But had we our wishes, they would be gone of us and no more

Than utter nuisance to the wind, how it shall seem, that nary their children will remember them

And even then, forget, to hold dear the tears in their eyes as they wept sleeping in cavernous burrows of dirt and filth

How some crave the modern way while others yearn for a mote of substance

Heightened to a fine point, the subject strays too far, and I am wondering once again: Who am I?

How came I to be here?

And when may I leave?

Please, let me know, when the ship is due East for its final voyage

So that I may board it, without belonging, without family, without friend or foe

Nameless, lost at sea, and drowning in the nothingness of the blue…

They spoke in stars and waterfalls, in declining terrain and bespoke wisdom

In other words, they spoke not at all

But simply breathed, in the same room

The cavernous hotel lobby of their heart

In the dunes of your heart I steel my nerves for the next blow

No two kisses are alike

And tender does the wind blow when we leave

Each time I remember your touch

Each time I remember your nails digging into my skin

To a heart

of fire

there are but embers

in my hand

i hold your key

and you want

it back

but i resist

and we spout


in the name

of self-righteousness

for one another