Category: Poetry

I don’t have a spare cigarette today or an extra dollar or even a free minute. I need today to be mine and mine alone. Can’t I do that just this once? Forget my phone and the emails, ignore the people on the streets and the list of things that need to be done. Not …

You labeled us all dead but who is in the coffin? I must confess, you confuse me with your words as often as you inspire. Who were you in your drunkenness, stumbling in the darkness of what you saw? The more I read your work the more I want to know you and the more …

A feather falls toward the earth, the wind tries in vain to lift it upward again, as if to give it back to the little bird from whose tail it has been shed, but the blue bird is far gone, borne to a place far away, on the very same wind.

Following a little beetle as it moved with purpose, I wondered about it’s red markings and shiny black shell, while it led me around the driveway. I thought, “it is funny that I am being led by this little bug”, as it scurried along it’s way. And I questioned it, aloud, what it though about …

Points Of Authority- You love my broken pride. Take away my life and share the hurt to get back at me. Forfeit what you’ve learned. Cover your name, your shame you love. Papercut- I can’t stop the voice, it laughs every time I close my eyes, it points out all my mistakes, all that I …

Dawn asks nothing, notices yesterday’s death, yet energy released in solar arcs demand our undying celebration, hedonistic energy begs absolute gratitude.

At the laundry mat, I watched a black guy punch a white guy in the head. I wanted to intervene but who am I to interfere in the affairs of others? Instead I glanced out the window as he hit the ground. Blood already erupting from the split flesh of his skull. There were two …

His eyes are still talked about seventeen years after they stuck his body in a blast furnace People tell me that I have his eyes which I know, because they are dead and colored like ash I never asked to be the son of Lancelot, or to have eyes that are a reminder of him …

I never really knew the man, we never really connected. There aren’t any pictures of the good times we had, sometimes I wonder if there were any. I see him when I look in the mirror, mostly because that is what people have always said. He died when I was young and chemical distractions kept …

He pushes all that he owns in front of him within a shopping cart, face proud like a king of old looking out over the land greasy hair and dirty clothes do not matter nor do the lice on his unshaven face he walks with his kingdom always before him, and his land is a …