Category Archives: Poetry


Darrell taught me
it is better to know
than not to know
what you want
and what you don’t.

in/side and out.

with/out saddles
horses like me run wild
through 20th Century madness
used because we carry the word
slaughtered for glue.


eating your way
through shit
only guarantees
a raw tongue
and ass,
not nuptials.


he held my belly.
tickled it.
ashamed, but too tired
to suck it in, belly opted
for sunshine
this time.


On Unfinished Poems

fireAnd this is one of them.
The poem I will never finish
Because there is nothing here.

All fires are lies,
Created only to challenge silence.

He has gone into hiding from my touch.
Poems go down easier than I ever will.

He says pay attention to the language
When it has never paid any attention to me,
Which is no excuse, I know.

I smash windows
Because skin makes no sense.
He knows this yet craves my touch.

Is a dead fag funny?
I gnaw at his bones.

Death Poem

moon treeWatching for you.
Murders and accidents
Surprise and consequence
Flatlined headlines
No one escapes you.

But I like it.
I do.

I wait
On my back rocking,
Hands pressing knees
Down, down into my chest

Waiting to be
Remaindered like a book.

Eyes look ask plead
Water released.
Ignored as you sweep the floor
Clean of my mother’s carcass.

I gush.
But I like the way you
Keep it cold.

Snap necks.
Flatten eyelids.
Punch lungs.
Clog arteries.
It tickles.

You could say
I’m a fan,
A cheerleader
Clothed in a varsity cassock
Two skulls for pompoms.

I’m always impressed with your victories
And hate it when people
Cheat you.

My Eyes Need to Find You Today

Because my heart already
Knows and loves you.
Has wandered through
Your insecurities,
Enjoyed the squeaking
Of their unreasonable protests.
Has not forgotten a thing.

So let’s be honest:
Neither one of us
Wants this thing here.
We wanted it there.
Somewhere it had no ticket
To go yet without Gatorade.

Now we can.

This is truly what’s risked in living bare,
Truth-speaking to strangers called Me.
Our virus a memory suppressed,
Screaming for attention
Replicating in pretty idols that collapse easily
Because they are not really here.

I cried in my therapist’s office today
Over a yellow plaid shirt that confessed my poverty,
And a strong belief in being unlovable.
Wounds in my stomach throb,
Curl under and wait for instructions.
Bruised, they are not hopeful or ready to move.
But I am, so they will.

Spell for the non-believer

(Dedicated to Marcus.)

There will always be enough time,
And there will always be enough of you.
On the contrary,
There is too much of both,
So accept it.

You see,
It was never about time or you,
It was our expectation of time,
And of you,
Who sincerely believed your hands
Could only touch this here,
When it held hands
With trees and ants and flowers and sun and all else.

It’s so much easier to think
In equations,
Than in the endless
We all spring from.

Easier to believe
That several seconds ago
Or into the soon-to-be
Contained the magic you needed
To get to that something you desire.
That you missed your chance.

Or had been duped.
So you lied.
And I lied.
We all lied.
But I understand all too well
Why we do this.
We believe that someone owes us.
Can fix it.
Satisfy the urge to cut.
Save us from running out into traffic.

Well, no.

It’s all okay.
Time is right.
You alright.
But no one could ever tell you that.
There will always be enough time
And there will always be enough of you.
On the contrary,
There is too much of both,
Accept it.

What you feel
And see
And hear
And smell
And taste
And memory into experience
Has all the everything you need
To make it through this journey.
All that pokes
And peals back life
Is all we need to get by.

We all got a front row seat
At this show.
You just forgot.

Be brave.
Let it go.

That one thing you can’t seem to shake,
Shake it.
Red is waiting to flow.

Let misery come
But let it keep its hat on.

There will always be enough time
And there will always be enough of you.
If anything,
There is too much of both,
Live in the flow.