Penny wise…pound foolish


Imagine..if you will

A razor sharp melon baller 

Glowing white with heat

And you scoop a perfect little ball

From the inside of your thigh

The wound cauterized instantly

The smell of bacon permeating the air

The admin, at your place of work

Holds the jar’s lid open for you to deposit 

That perfect little ball-of-you

The price you pay for your paycheck 

But you continue on

Filling your tech pocket

With an iPhone X

Wrist covered in a 2nd gen iPhone watch

All so you look less like a golf ball 

And more like, well…everyone else

Now we could certainly discuss

The scoop value of your gaming PC

The loss of blood was so great

Getting that goddamn Lexus 

You had to pay in installments 

But we give of ourselves in many ways 

When your partner drags you out

To the company clambake 

And you’d rather just read a book

The decision to compromise 

Is certainly worth a scoop

Don’t you think?

The day you threw away 

That copy of US News and World Report’s

Ranking of the best colleges 

Your fingers worn smooth

Running across Iowa’s Writers Workshop 

So you could sign mortgage documents 

Sliding five little you-spheres

(The first of many)

Across the mahogany desk

The banker immediately fashions into

One of those kinetic desk sculptures 

He pulls two orbs-o’-you back

They swing, hitting with a soft



But the middle ovoid sits still

The fourth and fifth spheroids 

Taking up the trajectory 

You suddenly realize

That all these times

You’d given up

Parts of you

You’d given up

Mass and subsequently 

Force and inertia

Soon there’ll be

No more






Breadth of Existence


It’s in the valleys and the coolness of the shadows that I’m held like an infant to breast, nestled in the crook of an arm. The colors are bled to grays but the air is thick and damp. The smell of decomposing leaves and pine needles is a long remembered lullaby that ushers me off to a torpor only found in the middle of a fairy ring. Don’t despair for me, though…my friend. As I do, on occasion, climb my way out of these valleys. And when I do summit the peak, surveying the landscape about me, I see the colors of the world in a depth of saturation few are privy to. The emerald green of the canopy and the azure of the midday sky taste like mint and saffron on the tongue, while the sunlit clouds hum an aria whispered by angels. Alas, I can’t exist long on the mountain’s thin air, having become accustomed to the valley floor, so even the most wondrous ascents come to an end with the setting sun. Even weeks after returning to my valley and it’s muted colors, I can taste the sky and canopy on the tip of my tongue. This carries me through. 

Show me


Make me forget

For even just a second

That I’m going to die alone

Make me want nothing more

Than to wipe away your tears

Forgetting my own

Knowing our sorrow’s tributaries 

Share the same source

Jagged disappointments smoothed

By years of melancholy currents

Our very roots penetrating 

Dense, ancestral, red clay 

Laden with heart’s blood

Distract me

From the need to crawl 

Into some dark, unknown corner

Surrendering myself to the stillness 

Show me that our words

Even the desiccated ones

Are tumbleweeds

Rolling across lost landscapes

Leaving seeds of inspiration 

Show me that today’s atrophy

Is overridden by tomorrow’s triumphs 

That your faith in me

Was warranted

That love

Was not wasted

That stillness

Is irrevocable 

That light can penetrate

The deepest of darknesses

Show me…



When I was young

I played a game

Walking through the city

I’d dance with cars

I was a capote de paseo with

Toro bravos made of steel and glass

The closer to the rear bumper I got

The more points I earned

I was stepping off of curbs

Before the car even passed

Still, as an adult, I’m longing

To feel a candy apple red paint job 

Pass across my fingertips 

At 30 miles per hour

Small Talk


How’ve I been?

I’m dying

To be fair

We all are

So why do I


Languor on like this?

Am I truly howling mad?

For screaming out

Into the void

Hoping that

Even as I cough up blood

From the effort

That more than empty echoes resound

To be honest I don’t know what I expect

Validation? Keys? $200 for passing go?

Maybe it’s this pathetic fucking malaise

This stench of depression

That’s colored everything yellow

Like a fuck-all-poor-me-patina

There is no meaning

There is no plan

There’s just the next breath

The next obligation

The downhill momentum

Pay me no attention

Remember the next time you complain

When someone talks about the weather

And you yearn for heartfelt truth

THIS is a distinct possibility

I’m good…it’ll pass

Just like this shitty weather


A match


Drunk from lack of sleep

Thoughts are rats scurrying in the walls

Of a long ago abandoned building

My head snaps to the muffled sound

Of wiring insulation being gnawed at

An almost coherent thought

Waiting for the spark of epiphany

That follows the arc flash of insanity

Despite my bare feet standing in a puddle

Of my own urine

I know myself to be well grounded

I try to concentrate on the task at hand

But emotions are a cloud of gnats

That just won’t clear away

No matter how much I flail my arms

They crawl into the corners of my eyes

Into my nose, ears and mouth

I’m overwhelmed

I breathe in and out

I need to get to the now

I sit in lotus

What was urine is now gasoline

I’m a Buddhist monk

At a crossroads

Dropping a match



He spoke the secret, shared language

Of identical twins

Despite the fact he was an only child

You could find him at any time

Smiling and nodding in agreement

In a room alone

He played the harp on spiderwebs

He whispered secrets into heater grates

Walking out into the sun

He would sneeze almost every time

He’d mastered lucid dreaming

And tried to make the waking world

Bend to his will, unsuccessfully

He thought being half Native American

Would give him the ability to walk silently

Across leaves and twigs

He knew, comparatively, that he was poor

But mom was there for him, growing up

And that made him rich beyond compare

He wept the night his friend showed him

How to kill ants with a magnifying glass

He wondered if the ants sneezed

Before they melted

I missed that boy

Until I had my son


We will make

The waking world

Bend to our will



I’m in a small boat


In fog so thick

Only the sound of the water

Lapping at the side of the boat

Hints at its existence

My hands burn

Tired from gripping the boat’s edge

Filled with slivers from the boats decay

I can’t remember how old I was…

When I got my first bike

When I first kissed a girl

When I went on my first date

When I…

I’m suddenly in a cobwebbed corridor

I’d sublimated in my memory palace

Which leads to a oaken door

The color of lost childhood

The door is locked

It keeps in the poisoned air

Pseudomonas, staphylococcus, ammonia

Decay’s exhalation of hydrogen sulfide

Inside is the fragmented mirror

Broken by transgression

An artful trick from—

I’m back in the boat

Eyes blurred by tears

No matter

The world is amorphous

Life: ephemeral

I exhale a sigh of relief

A close call

That corridor…

Will need to be…

Walled in

My grip tightens

The boat gets a new coat

Wait…where was I?

I’m in a small boat


In fog so thick…



There’s a cardboard box

On a metal shelf

Outside my office

Ordinary in every way

The box is not mine

It’s contents no concern

In this place

Where I traded sticky floors

For asbestos walls

It is just a box

Written in black sharpie

Four simple digits

The number 4101

However, it is a burdock

My mind a shaggy sweater

On my days off

I have be found mouthing the number




I was unaware I mouthed the number

Until someone pointed it out

Asking, what it was that I was saying

I had no idea

The number was a virus

My head the empty horse it hides in

Creeping out of my mouth

To lay siege to my home life

I started paying attention

But at the moment I recognized

That I was about to almost say it

It scurried back to the recesses

I told my family to watch

To try and discern what I was saying

A number starting with four, they agreed

This still made no sense to me

Then, walking into my office

I saw it

The unassuming little box

I’d never given it more

Than a wayward glance

It made me wonder

Just how many times

I mouthed







I’m enthusiastically solipsistic

I’m quick to say, “Sorry, I missed it.”

I’m an introverted panenhenic mystic

I’m twisted, conflicted, unscripted

I’m an uncommitted, sick kid, as predicted

I’ve been called a dipshit

Cuz I don’t buy the hip shit

My mind just flips shit

Into a guilt trip

For not exercising self-censorship

My brain has a hair trigger, pistol grip

100 road trips with only 1 roach clip

I care too much about the fellowship

Of man

But goddamn

Let’s devise a plan

To save our land, air and water

I know we can, if we care about sons and


I’m a panster not a plotter

Life’s my alma mater

I matriculated from The Illustrated Man

As anticipated it integrated a sense of

Who I am

It originated my articulated defense of

Where I stand

A denigrated, insulated, and incensed

Peter Pan

Second star to the right and straight on till

Morning to get to Neverland

I don’t do drugs cuz I’m already a downer

I look where I live and feel like an


I’m about to get up

Time to wrap this shit up

Here…pass around this tip cup

I know I’m one sick pup

I never wanted to grow up

I’m just happy to show up