Category: Poetry

Four walls       built of cinder blocks Two       windows             set high into those walls God damn cold air blowing curtains all hours of the day bringing the dampness making my clothes damp, my papers damp, it blows constantly there is no                         escaping                                     it.

If I offered you a smile or a night or even that summer you long for, would you forsake forever and be satisfied with my offering? Would my affections, or my passion or even the time that you long for, be enough to replace the promise of something lasting? A poem is easy a smile …

save your thanks and find that eternity is fatal for us all I would rather be a flash in the dark so that it would seem like a summer day even if the stars still shone nothing is given freely not fate or the rawness of your being and belief has no place in the …

Flagellation, constipation Sinner, dinner I ran out of clever things to say, so I am stuck… Looking at what should have been a riveting poem, mocking religion and causing proper women to blush. Instead I think I will embed this pen in my friend’s skull.

The creek runs brown from the dirt suspended in the current. Blackberry bushes form a wall along the side of the creek bed and reaches out across the water, some of the vines float, as if enjoying the coolness of the water. A loan duck swims back and forth, quaking in the sun.

The muse pants, heavily, pregnant with her maudlin charms words bound together like a double helix of inspired DNA, chromosomes of divinity in the shapes of line stanza and verse The muse grunts, forcefully, labored breaths caress my ears the tools of my craft lay before me, between wide spread thighs, and there is silence …

As it appears in the 2012 American River Review I don’t know the cost of a ream of paper in China or how much sunlight reaches the north pole of the moon. I don’t know why people in Louisiana eat living crawfish or what the long term effects of using my cell phone will be. …

Time moves as I move and as you move and as the cold moves to the warm as form moves to fill the void of order over chaos but fails because the law of order falls outside of me and I cannot be less than unless another me is greater than I am I am …

I watched out of the corner of my eye, I watched a spider c     r     a     w     l      across the acoustic ceiling above my bed. It was there,           just to the                side of my vision. It moved in brief flashes, always frozen when my head moved. I looked up as it looked down. It, reflected twice.           Me, eight times. …

She smelled of vanilla and lilac and though she was near death’s door her smile lit up the room and her voice whispered of past pleasures. And even though I sat across the room, I could feel her presence fill the space, time stood still for all to look at her as she stood there …