Americana analysis art Hell history holidays horror human behavior humanity journalism kindness life love mindfulness mourning muse mythology nightmares pandemics Uncategorized

ghost light

the moment he turned

and walked away

our world became peckinpah

i can no longer discern

whose blood

my hands are weeping over

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


america the dutiful

when we are unwilling
to sacrifice for the greater good
the greater good
becomes the sacrifice

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

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

the perverse hand of ruin

the perverse hand of ruin
has raised my skirt
too many times

i should know better
than to look the monster in the eyes

my nightmare
has become
the manner in which i make my living
that which makes me passionate about living
are in direct opposition

my vengeance takes the shape
of william blake’s
“Death on a Pale Horse”
go make yourself ready


i shall burn the sky

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

high enough to see

you hold still
while i paint
a degas green upon your face

opium den pedestal placed
red blood cells floating
in absinthe swollen disgrace
our clothing disintegrated in the corner

i open my eyes to ask you,

“how long have we been in this room, my love?”

you pull me onto your hips
causing me to rise into a moan

high enough to see
through the window
paris is no longer burning