oh what a lie of grandeur, a fib of scandalous scale!
that heaven-sent from a place above according to lore
a shower of sparks
can descend and send you forth
on that gilded course with just one other –
how silly for those unknowing to believe!

that lightness you feel
within your heart
is nothing
single serving x


skeletons in the closet and worrisome bits
oh how I’m having a dastardly fit!
on the eve of a Christmas never so fine
like glass after glass of summer moon wine
drunk down to the bottom of the bottle

for snow no more is the order and the way

and today! I stay



calling it a night


apparently, in my present state
the gift (subjective, mind) of wordsmithing
has sprouted feet and scampered away
without me knowing!
the spirits by which I’ve become so mellow
have shrouded my senses and
it’s fucking run astray again, like the yellow
warmth of the summer

and lacking the aptitude for effective
expression of my inner journeys
I’m stuck merely milling about inside
my head again, wondering if this happened,
or if that would have come to pass,
if she’d have me in a perfect way,
or if, in just one sway
I’d take it all away
and never see her again
if I’d begin afresh with a life anew
different me in a different place
with new adventures to season
the bland flavor of this lack of reason
my quiet evening tainted with noisy children playing
in the snow
that glamour was false (oh how we see it now)


cast your flower like a stone of lead
into the hole where I lie, let it athunder atop my casket
yet I’ll not hear; for a simple deaf patron I was
of the purveyor of desperation borne
in the sweet juice of sharp grass
hewn in the warmer latitudes – alas!
in their own persuasion
just as cold as the northern wastes they are
that deliver such a cold breeze as this
to whisk us away
after it’s all set aside
to play
in our shadows
as we sleep




i’m almost ahead of you

originally composed on 11/28/05

from this white empty form of a snow-shrouded peak
I’m left cold and windswept again
merely peering rather meekly through the
whipping winter fog
at the children down below,
thick layer of simple meat
coating everything
below me
beneath the sun
and as I gaze deified from my perch
I know I’m still one of them
as broken and sanctified as I feel
on this frozen peculiar nocturne



originally composed on 11/28/05

o! how the sensory pleasures
can appeal to such a starving boy as
I, assailed by brilliant flavors,
smells, and visual pleasantries like an
evening bath with Leary –
the invasion force mint of my gum is
slamming the beachfront as
beautiful teenage girls fire shots like snipers
from their breasts heavy and tight
in their sweaters
and Wolf Blitzer on the television above
wraps his arms beneath my coat around my waist
and whispers soft assurances
in my ear
that this world, soft and warm as I see it
is nothing but the latest prime-time
attraction to get our hearts pumping
before we‘re in our beds a-thumping
and we can go to sleep safe and sound, he says,
rested silent and ready for the ‘morrow.




it’s quarter of ten tonight on this saturday night
in the common tradition a drinking night
the difference just a toss
a new variety of sauce
ready to be surveyed –
and I’m nearly asleep
for the expedition’s been played
by the sweetsong lullaby of single-cask rum
but perchance to say the dreaming’s begun
for I’m casting back a while
to the way you were
soft and close as I held you tight
stricken deaf and blind by the
audible might and heavensent light
swooping down around us

and oh
didn’t it feel, for a moment, just right?