[every time you read “vomit” imagine, if you will, a clanging symbol signifying the start or end of something important, which one it is I’m not sure matters much]


you drift away pulled from me, once, pulled from me twice, pulled from me more times that I can remember accurately in this state of mind, a sleepy state of mind, alone on a three legged couch, maybe with insects crawling in my hair, I can never tell anymore. Pulled from me and given up by me, both true, both happened, I’ll admit that much. I find you less appealing now the older you get, the further you’re pulled, the less mine you become, the less me I see in you. That explains the waning attraction I suppose, as I said before, I might be a narcissist, at least on some level, but on some level we all are, don’t you think?


I have a problem with language, I’m overly verbal and underwhelmingly articulate, simultaneously at the same time, redundant, etc, its frustrating, at any rate. I have a problem with swearing, which never occurred to me to be a problem until I had children, so many children, and they all came out with ears, fully functioning, alert, awake, judgmental ears! I don’t want to harm those delicate ears, but then sometimes they don’t seem so delicate, they seem rough and tumble and anything but.


new poems, poetry

4 am wake-up

4 am wake up, irritated thrown back sheets, crying howling noises of displeasure, who can I blame?, again I remember no one but me.

4 am wake up, sad wet face in the darkness, hot poker insides, half alive rocking, praying for release, praying for belief, night-dreaming of friends and eternity.

4 am wake up, stream of conscious calling, brew it hot, brew it hard, drink it up, drink it in, try not to be angry with sweet pink skin bundle, trying to remember this is the bed that I made.

4 am wake up, nose dive disaster, couch sitting, floor laying, drifty mind clouds of thunder, book bag rummaging, internet dancing, noises sound closer than ever before.

4 am wake up, will this be forever?, the softness is tender but darkness chases me here, whimpers from caged in places, get back where I put you, calling off demons and all sorts of things.

4 am wake up, how do I end this?, talking of blackness and eternal races, they shadow box in these hours, vivid not see-through, alone with the harshness of quiet and realness of skin on my skin.


burnt toast

you didn’t come home

until the very next day

you shuffled in, electric 

energy from other hands

still circling your

ashamed feverish head

like Saturn’s halo 


your naked finger tapping,

rubbing worn-thin


rust red trousers

dodging questions, dodging

glances: a sideways

dagger-eyed bride


children circle like

knowing natives,

moon round faces, 

pool and threaten to overflow

you reassure them,

I provoke, compensating,

like a surgeon, I cut in


monologging interrupted

by your cell phone,

it jumps and sways and

moans under the weight

of its ripe truth;

toast is made and burned

and remade


salty thick peanut

butter on fingers and lips,

like forever,

six in the morning,

it was your birthday

toast always burned,

i like it better that way.