activism addiction Americana civility coffee comfort rituals shooting stars

You sure it ain’t Sanka?

This morning’s coffee

tastes like resignation,


I’m in the mood for redemption.

Americana behavior belief death destruction deviance Uncategorized

god is an American

god is an American
god is a Baptist preacher
fingering your mother
behind a revival tent
god is a priest
who shoots your baby
with an uzi full of holy water
god is the monsignor who sodomized your brother
god is a plague carrier
god is a destroyer of men
god hates your gay marriage
god sold the first bump of fentanyl to your junkie sister
god is Fox news
god is a high school drop out who sells used cars
god has a concealed carry permit
god formed a militia
god gave us a sexually transmitted president
god has nations buried in his basement
god is the voice whispering in the ears of tyrants
god is a compound burning in Waco
god is a nuclear warhead
god is a plane crashing into the world trade center
god is the Westboro Baptist Church picketing a soldier’s funeral
god killed Jesus
god is an American

Americana astronomy battle belief comfort communication divinity family happiness health Kentucky local color love medicine poetry religious studies rituals Southern Gothic the arts theatre Uncategorized

Liturgy of the Hours

every night you were away

i sought you out

through blackberry bramble ether

from weeping constellations above dixmyth avenue

to jessamine county barns filled with horse hay

perpetually wrapping blue ribbon around my finger

whispering vespers

my plea to the particles of the universe

to hold you together

to bring you back from oblivion

as you had done for me

you are my chosen family

inextricably part

of my thunderous heart

to which you will always hold the latchkey

literature mortuary sciences poetry psychology sociology thanatology writing

softened fruit

once you’ve been a mortician

you never stop thinking

or dreaming

like one


beyond exposure

to the harshest chemicals

in existence

it is the psychological blitzkrieg

that is the true

occupational hazard


i am plagued by dreams

of having to embalm

my dead since i was 6 father

his features i set perfectly

but his hands won’t take the fluid

they are a sick yellowish color

with blackened fingernails

the fingers spread apart



death is always

grasping coldly toward us


as for the rest of humanity

my eyes see them

as softened fruit

about to spoil


each day

has become a discipline

in attempting

not to think

this way


as i find life

in all its pain and glory

to be worthwhile

and of

unfathomable beauty



Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

i need her to tell me

today i’m reaching out
for myself at age 55

older me who still wears her silver hair long

strong woman who survived
and came out swinging

i want to read her writing

i want to know how she kept from dying

i want to know when her anger went away

i want to meet her sons
who forgave her
for everything she couldn’t give them

i need her to tell me that love
saved all of our lives

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

fifth & mercy st.

our lady of perpetual sorrow
hear my prayer
as my need is great

it’s thursday night
there’s a bottle of wild turkey
pleading the fifth
on the night stand

lou reed is singing about berlin
from a warehouse in brooklyn

grant me strength

as i have one more night to spend
fighting the good fight
inside the devil’s head

before a flight back to sanity tomorrow

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

i’ve found you, motherfucker

i must return to the jungle
a hell of teeth and your green predator eyes
escaped long ago

because a good woman has been left behind
in a cage
only my love will unlock

you call me monster
idi amin with my accordion
how naïve
i haven’t yet begun to make you bleed

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

rage jar

spring is having its way
with me
and the trees
blooms buds
throw rugs
everything clean

fresh thoughts and ideas

i’m keeping nothing ugly in the house
chipped dishes
anything that reminds me of you

not even angry thoughts

so i’ve placed a rage jar
on the old roll top
ringing my own pavlovian bells

each time you cross my mind
serial killer of happiness
stealing a moment of my peace
i put a five in

at the end of every month
i will donate the contents of
the redemptive vessel
to a battered women’s shelter

my anger transforming into compassion

making something good come
to a woman in need

from the evils that you do

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

her eyes are the color of burning drapes in hell

today is sunday
my dear
the christian sabbath
we shouldn’t sully this up with love
let us grudge fuck like former baptists
as our better judgment
watches in horror amidst rumpled clothing
on the motel floor

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

nihil obstat

since the middle ages
the catholic clergy
have raped more children
than they’ve built churches

and i fail to understand
why every diocese
has not been burned to the ground

the remaining faithful
rebuilding toward heaven
without the shadow of sin

nihil obstat