activism art Uncategorized

negotiable instruments

from now on

i am going to write

“I hate what the world has become…”

in the memo

of all my paper checks


myths & legends

is a concept
invented by
a pharmaceutical


the shape of a man

fathers day

is a black hole

the shape of a man

filled with regret


and horrific choices

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

wake me when it’s time for carson

as a child
sitting cross-legged
before our mammoth television
on seventies avocado shag carpeting

i would stand quickly
run to the old wooden zenith floor model
slamming a soft palm
into the black and silver power switch
when i became overwhelmed
scared by what i was seeing

thereby reducing
the horror squared
to a tiny speck of pixel light center screen
that in moments would magically
cease to be

calm returned

now at 36
i feel much the same way
about the state of humanity
about the state of the dying world

we are the most grandiose fools
to ever crawl from primordial ooze

there is no button to be pushed
i’ve had my fill
i don’t want to see anymore

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

it’s just that demon life has got you in its sway

“Did you ever wake up to find
A day that broke up your mind
Destroyed your notion of circular time”

-M. Jagger, K. Richards

she runs up the stairs
retreating to her office
after dinner
afraid to drink the water
which may or may not
contain a death plume
emanating from a rich man’s pocket
along the elk river

slamming a rolling stones cd in a stereo
to hear sway
then presses her spine against the locked door
so violently the door knob eats her kidney

ice and snow covering all reality
even the inside of the television
weary of real and synthetic
human suffering

celebrities are the rhinestones
who bedazzle a pile of human excrement

a letter on the table says
her rare native american genetic type
is a bone marrow match that could end someone’s suffering
but they don’t know how recently she’s been
to the sickened shores of new jersey

something will soon blow up in russia
she thinks
and her boss will be too far away
to take any of the shrapnel to the face

her poetry is pissing blood

and the suburbs are a carcinogen
killing us all too slowly

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

i have lived

black and white photos
of my ancestors line the walls
of my mother’s lavender bedroom

standing stoically on the farm
or in front of the church
aged beyond their years
their eyes filled with poverty
the fear of god
and pine boxes

not much separates a kentucky wedding
from a kentucky funeral

the country steals your innocence sooner

if love is a little girl
who emerged alive
from a tree lined morning
after being left behind in the darkest woods
to be eaten by wolves

then i have loved

if life is pain
exposed to the bone
so excruciating
i must write it down
sentences from it
to help me withstand
the weight of existence

then i have lived

and given the world two sons

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

giant post-it note for god stuck to the side of an easter island head


do you not remember
your believers were sold
a blink of an eye apocalypse

these centuries of suffering
are bad for your image

you must do better

you’re a plague away from
even your most devout
buggy riders and catlicks

questioning your methods

i always thought you’d be taller

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

sharp teeth

he tells me in his deep vibrato
i am a merciful vampire
and repeats my name
over and over
as we sit in the cave
roasting meat and wearing fur
intent on tasting each other

Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

to my brother off dying in the war

there is no poetry
in what might have been

the affliction you suffer
is the retribution
of your outraged nature

your rebellion
is plotting to burn
it’s well polished shelf

please know
there is no pill to remedy
a life slipping by unlived

no syringe of dreams
potent enough
to run warming peace up your veins

you are the merciful god
who will end the torture
within the pit

sublime discontent
transmuted into chapters of ink
will be your salvation

and the will to build a door

poetry Uncategorized


the word


by archaic


this explains
why men
are nail driven to

and poetry