80 years

doesn’t seem like much to ask

of the broad expanse of time

80 years

that’s all i need

to make sure

my sons are taken care of

for the remainder of their lives

what is my mothering heart to do


i won’t get it


Spring Play

I thought

I understood what



and beauty


until I saw the smile

beam from the face

of my son


his leading role bows

before the applauding theatre

as he realized

he had just achieved


he never thought possible

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

drink the ocean

the one thing i know
how to build with my hands
i learned in eighth grade industrial arts

if you give me raw wood
a table saw with a router
a miter saw
a bit of wood glue
a plane sander
clear varnish
i will build for you
a beautiful little beveled edge box
with brass hinges
and a hasp lock

but this day
i intend to construct one
for myself
designed for securely containing
three things

this poem
the straw that broke the camel’s back
and my suicide

you see
my soul died this morning
i gave up

but i am a mother with autistic
18 year old twin sons
who loves them enough
to allow her heart to continue to beat

i love them enough to remain alive
i know to do this
because my father didn’t

i love them enough to keep blood
in these arms that hold them
when they are screaming and crying
and blaming me for giving them autism
by virtue of my having been the one
who gave birth

telling them
if we can
just survive the hormonal high school years
everything will be alright

one of them hides his asperger’s from everyone
at school in a futile attempt to fit in
but he’s only hiding the words
the label of autism
his actions let people know he’s not typical
so when he stares too long
or has a face void of expression
they just think he’s a creepy jerk
so he keeps getting in trouble
because he won’t say
“i have asperger’s don’t take it the wrong way,
i don’t mean any harm”
because he says
“i would rather be called
an asshole
than a retard”

the other one
is resistant to everything
but eating and sleeping
rules are what you break
when mom isn’t looking
he thinks
so long as he says the right words
to her face
no matter if it breaks her heart
because there is no synapse that fires
between his behavior
and the consequences thereof

this morning i realized
i am attempting to drink the ocean
pissing into the wind
nothing i do
will ever be enough

but i do not have the option of giving up
i have to keep banging my head into these walls
until i am bloody
as this is my lot

this little wooden box i shall build
of my pledge to go on with my life
to continue to fight

these words contained within it
are my coping mechanism

because in my zombie heart
i know
it is better
than my entire body
being placed into
into a finely crafted
pine box

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

i know not of saint ubald

when both of my sons
are raising hell on a
full moon afternoon
raging at me about
a teenage heartbreak
call home from the principal
or the fact that i made good on the promise
if you don’t clean your room
i will

my mind swims to sacred waters
evoking the image
of my twin baby boys
at age two
little pot bellies
in yellow terry
paddington bear sleepers
clinging to their lovies
through tears
because mommy had to go to work

to remind myself
this is why i am in the fight
this is my life
i was given this task
because i am capable
enough to tackle it
and survive

every parent who battles
and god or the lack thereof
for the sake of their spectrum child
and still manages to make miracles happen

(capable of understanding
buttoning a shirt properly
can qualify as a miracle)

that parent
is the patron saint of autism

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

the autism primer: year 18

this year will be a power struggle
with your child
as you attempt to balance
their need for independence
with their complete disconnect
from reality
and total lack of understanding with regards
to acceptable behaviors
and consequences

you will spend much of this year
being screamed at
wishing you were dead
and envying empty nesters

explaining things like
showers must be taken daily
you can’t wipe your shit on bath towels
or wipe cum on the floor

all whilst trying to instill
that being a person on the autism spectrum
doesn’t give one a free pass
to be an abusive asshole to others
or one’s environment

let’s not forget the guilt
you’ve carried around
from the day of your child’s diagnosis

was it the vaccinations
something you should have eaten
or didn’t eat while you were pregnant?
did you do this to them?

why were your children condemned?

that reliable old friend will still be there
to keep you warm and reeling at night
a gnawing cancer in your gut
until the day
you end

stay positive
that’s only
30 or 40 years away

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

romulus and remus

having twin teenagers with autism
is and will be
the greatest challenge of my life
if i survive this
i can whip anything

there are days when it’s hard to tell
who is screaming at you
the autism
or the 18 year old asshole

their teeth come out
bile and vomit spray the walls
over being asked to pick up their dirty socks

it is then i remember there is a tall bridge
perfect for giving up
right down the road from my house

and i think of what would happen
in my horrid wake
the abusive father the only one left
to care for them
the equivalent of throwing them to the wolves
romulus and remus made flesh

death is just another luxury a single mother can’t afford

not loving them enough to stay alive…
that isn’t me

that’s what my father would do

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

mustard stains

he is able memorize
everything he is interested in reading

he can tell you upon what page
frankenstein’s monster came alive
in the storybook when he was seven

he has never forgotten
one word ever uttered near or to him

he has a mental list of every real and perceived
slight or transgression
ever committed against him

yet at 18 he cannot remember
to clip his fingernails or bathe
without being told

he will not clean his room
fold or hang his laundry properly

he is my son
i am his mother

we have autism

and our life together is a perpetual struggle
over mustard stains

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

watch my sons rise

first day at the bus stop
for twin boys becoming gentlemen

their third year of high school

nearing six feet tall
in size 10 shoes

black linen shirts
jeans with chains

lookin’ like punk tony sopranos

packin’ pens, pencils, and graphing calculators

when i consider the dark years
the doctors
the tests
the poking
psycho dissections
the concept of a dysfunctional spectrum
and the word autism

i look to the sky
where whomever is supposed
to be running this shit show
is failing at their job

and i say fuck you
fuck you life
and all the hell you had planned

have a look at my beautiful boys
beating the odds

that’s right, tough guy

watch my sons rise

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

he hides his wings

we sat on the couch
beneath an original bukowski painting
beside a bronze bust of the dirty man
smoking legal chap books
listening to hot water music
drinking ancient scotch
the proximity
of kentucky to tennessee

poetry bombs
fell from the sky
as the king revealed his affliction

a rareness we share

one we have both passed on to our sons
our naivete
mechanical worlds
tin voices
the weight of meaningless gold

we wept into words
missing lovers
fathers and librarians

thai food
offers of shelter and safe harbor
given with
a father’s worried come-home-soon eyes

as we walked onto the patio
to say goodnight to the hollywood sign
and tuck in
the xenias and tomatoes

you cut your hand

wrote your words with
blood red

inside the bible
you had long ago given me

“All criminals are outlaws, but not all outlaws are criminals.”

that’s when i realized
you were the most beautiful thing
about california