Friday, January 23, 2015

Kind of blue

Late at night in a field of bad dreams
I breathe like a stallion
an old one it seems
I thrash in my stall
I shoulder that awl
Late at night in a field of bad dreams
scream like a lone one
grasp the last song line
and murder the rows
with my awl of demean
Late at night in a field of bad dreams
I am kinda blue
and you know what that means
late at night in an crazy ass stream
I swim to you

and you know that that means

Sunday, January 4, 2015


























Frozen

every movement
has been too much
has gone too far
or not far enough
bad or good we
still need to find
the in-between
bad or good we
still have to break
the soulless mean
every movement
needs a coffee klatch
a roomful of ideas
a woman’s touch
every movement
must wear an anarchist’s watch
a handless timepiece
an armless wrestle
a march through Gotham
the lengths we will go to
we have been skating across
a lake still frozen
time to be warmer
time for unbroken
every movement
has been too much
has gone too far
or not far enough
bad or good we
still need to find
what we have lost most
bad or good
we have to lose
the meaningless boast
bad or good we
have to find the
the meaningful touch
defrost and arm
regroup the charm
retreat and go begging

offensive is everything

Friday, November 14, 2014



















For Isabel tonight

there you are
in the moments
we refuse to avoid
there you are
at the start of
the foment, the noise
explaining to me
the need for a roar
there you are
when I call blindly
from a cell in my heart
there you are
in the darkness
there you are at the start
creep up on me
I don’t mind
we had that kind
of friendship
the ghosts still in transit
are jealous of us
there you are
in the night of
my simmering question
no answers you say
only direction
there you are
when I flounder
in boots still too tight
through dark underbrush
there you are in the light

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Sir Shadow

Sir shadow, you drunk
Sir Shadow, you mean
and crazy man
Sir Shadow, you hopeless shoe lacer
you angry defacer
Sir Shadow of mine
you black valentine
swing from the wing with a ghosty divine
Sir Shadow, you hopeless
reminder of loss
comic trickster of heaven
Byzantium’s loss is
a place where nothing of import
gives into dull hymns
or nudged the sweet need of sorts
Sir Shadow, it’s now
in the cinnamon dark

when I drink to the owl
to the falcon, the lark
and the music still hovers
like a family of sorts
Sir Shadow, the sum of 
my disparate parts
gets childy and needy and
begs for the stars
the  way to lace upward
the wayfaring boot
send me on to the place
and dig me my root


Sunday, October 26, 2014




overkill underkill
the thrill undeserved
sanctified realized
undersized is still
toothless and fruitless
a warning a nod
lazy disarming
weighty and flighty
wined by the storm
alone or in measures
of humans unarmed
take a bullet
a moment
a pick of the lot
shoot the wrong from the right
or get rid of the lot
sit by me and inquire or not
I’m pleased with the sound of your voice
dance with me or rather
leave a moment quieter
in a dark corner
where we shall foment
overkill underkill
the latter or former
it matters never the order
sound is the truth of
any great moment
the song, the poem, the drunkards pretend
who wins the lottery
which one has the scent
God is awesome
repent and repent.