bar riff

doom’s delivered daily in the darkness

a lack of light loves lackadaisical lounging

we want the world and we want it sunny

we see the world’s local climate accentuating

or emboldening the political

the processes of pollution and plunder and pain

if our leaders can live in an imaginary world, why can’t we will

Vitamin D and dance parties into ours?


blood is a cheap excuse for drug use


make the moist of what you’ve not


the nostalgic smile of an old leathery white man

nearly brings me to tears

as he stares into his glass three

bar seats away

and it occurs to me

that I might be an emotional genius

but I’m probably

just exhausted


95 bitterness units

5% shy of infinity

not worthy of rounding up?

when 100 and 1 million mean the same thing

have we touched god?

we can perceive the number

but not what it symbolizes

am I in heaven?

post-camping directions to my future stressed-out self

stop dead in your acts

take pause

and ponder

what your heart lacks

switch tracks

follow the new road

remember but don’t lament the old

it’s over

but far from gone

NOW is the time for progressive regression

NOW is the time for retrograde pioneering

have yourself an escape

pull away

flip the tape

and take your all back to basically nothing

whence you were born


crawl inside a tree

lose yourself in a blade of grass

get high on high doses

of fresh air

and spritual clarity

dare yourself to share your health

with the dirt

the stream

and all manner of beings unseen

come back to the rhythms

come back to you

and whenever it seems true enough

inhale, lie back if you must

get lost in the galaxies and

return to stardust

mE = mc[scared]





i strain to hear it now

as I imagine it rang “then”

in the instantaneous cosmic blossoming

I have a hunch

that the Big Bang and I

have a few onomatopoeias in common


the little bang hiding in my chest

resonates throughout and informs the rest

of my carnal universe

oh, my sacred celestial body of water

a dancing, pedaling, eating, shitting star

just a collection of others’ dust

I am mature, and though hardly stable

I’m unlikely to explode tomorrow


My red giant ink pen orbits the page

in a predictable pseudo-ellipsis

an ancient mandate guides me through this my

constant expansion in space

while time laughs in the corner

and scribbling on steady and true

I fail to move any closer to the

edge of the



I know it’s all relative [and relatively] simple

as a poet the mass of my body of work

springs from its kinetic Energy

divided by the little c inside,

but when the solar stage is lit

and the moon strikes the hour

of my lyrical meteor shower,


I see nothing but the speed of light

and I choke on

my own gravity


Red pen

I here apply an age-old

technique which I hope will not

be confused with domination

mistaken for colonialism


patriarchal bullshit


coercion, no.

Rather than conquer it

I intend here only to

correct the blankness

of this page.


There are people dying

There are people dying there

There are people dying here, too

I’m just not quite sure where


Of all the people dying

It’s you I’ll miss the most

Not because I knew you but

’cause we turned you into toast


We dropped bombs on your  village

Though you were already poor

When your enemy is starving

It’s real easy to win the war


You might think I write of Yemen,

Or Allepo, or Iraq

But we’re also bombing homeless folks

who sleep just down the block


We’re bombing them with hatred

And a lack of real care

It’s hard to afford community health

when our wallets scream “WARFARE!”


There are lots of people dying

By natural cause indeed

But I can’t face this death

when the rest are caused by greed


I want to be okay with death

Some day I’ll lose my mom

Then I’ll be sad in a different way

than if she died by bomb


Yes murder is the saddest sound

that I can comprehend

’cause each one tries to bring my faith

in humans to an end


I know I’ll never accept the notion

of an-eye-for-an-eye

So whence comes the urge

for vengeance before I die?


mud surrounds me

and lubricates all space

my muscles can’t react accordingly

no stopping


i coast from seat to seat

in a vehicle of confusion

built by contradicting neurons

of the spare parts of certainty


rubbing my eyes, my calves

doesn’t do the trick

i’m sharp at once

and leak lyrical clarity

then become dull

and spill my coffee


what internal climate informs

this celestial tempest

oh, my body

in the middle


and which of the distant

cultural galaxies

only offer their two cents

when they write parcel post


oh, my body

in the middle

of a billion and one worlds

not my own


oh, my heart

cast to the perimeter


because my head rests

on my sleeve


oh, my soul

prepositions fail

but i know

it’s there

12 [a soldier of armies]

Hundreds of thousands of individuals

calling themselves by

the same name

Collaborating for greatness

unified voices

speaking disparate words in unison

Hearts, lungs and livers

all pulsing together in bodies

connected by umbilical chords of cultural pride

transferring the nutrients of separation

This army of soldiers

seeks to become

a singular

soldier of armies

and lend a meta-numerical advantage

to the great battle for temporary heaven.

…and all the while the disinterested

deities witness

half-a-million lives

reduced to a promotional integer

called 12

proving yet again what miracles

are possible

when we come together.