Monday, April 10, 2017

Page 394

Make a choice and divide a line.
All just one turn in time.
Just relax, if you dare,
speak the words that go right here.

Down and back and battles one,
seven paths on which to run.
Here we are again.
Cover up but not to hide,
to seek and sneak and make a find.
What do you long for deep inside?
Tell me, please, I beg you.

One-thousand years has come to this:
one last final deadly kiss.
Breathe me in. Breathe. Me. In.
Walk those forbidden halls and talk to those awful walls;
hear that voice, that wretched call.
What trouble you are in.
This is where the end begins.

Play your game and change your name,
but your voice sounds just the same.
Keep your hands dry,
feel free to panicked,
and run a little faster.
Move a bit closer, you fool.
Who is who in this disaster?

Follow the steps and remember a time,
feel it burning up your spine,
release the power pent inside.

Young in years, perhaps,
but the only star upon my map.
Drug me, slug me, love me.
Tonight in the glow of that which cannot be reached,
on my face these moonbeams creep.
And I must turn.
I have no choice.
Please run.

Monday, March 27, 2017


If there a place to be alone,
I want to find this place.
Solace evades my step.
Closer each day and somehow just as distant.
I hear birds as they lust for one another.
My freedom rests in a dungeon I cannot reach.
The pure of heart trample flowers without a hint of remorse.
Better things. Better days.
Someday that never dawns.
Impulses and wishes.
A pendulum weighted with a rich man's gold.
Swing, oh great machines of revolution.
Keep my time. This is my destiny, my fate, my becoming.
If there is a place to be alone with you, I want to find this place.
In my dreams, a forest without birds and flowers;
an unmeasured moment without intrusion.
Lock me in this cell and leave me to bleed out.
I long for death yet suffer only the silence of a heartbroken raven.

Friday, March 10, 2017


These little haunted things I call my thoughts,
I lock them up in this ornate box.
Turn the key: click, click, click.
Here I am, not quite dead but deathly sick.
It scratches, belches, kicks and knocks,
whatever is in this tiny box.
Swallow the key and don a crown,
but I only want to put it down-
alas, I cannot, this is my fateful lot.
Stomach aches and keys and locks.
There is no cure, no secret door;
everything is as it was before.
Almost. Not exactly. Not precisely.
And lastly, it comes back and back and back and back and back and back.
Hymns of revelation.
Leave me at the altar.
She looked back but I did not faulted.
Spread your wings and flap, flap, flap.
Jabs and stabs and bloody rags,
all torn and tossed and left for dead;
here I am within my head;
yet not alone this time.
There is a visitor: a quiet, timid soul;
a beautifully dark traveler.
Terrified, I would expect, given the complexity of this triviality.
Will you play and will you stay or will you simply run away and leave me here with my box and with my crown and awful thoughts?
To ache and cry and drown and die?
Interesting, nonetheless, to welcome such an unexpected guest.
Give it space and do not kill it,
not just yet, not until I can regret.
That is how we measure friends: by their ends and by amends and by and by and bye.

Friday, January 27, 2017


Carry the roses.
Take love in small doses.
Exhale this fractured blackness.
Step backwards.
Immolate the space.

As surely as the beasts of purgatory lust for blood, I crave bliss.
Ignite my veins, pure ether. 
I am forced to say this.
Afflictions I cannot trace.
Fate I cannot taste.
A test I cannot fake.

And on this night, alone with my smoldering imagination, I weep tears of lunacy. I stretch my mortal hands to the heavens above and curse the conspiracy that haunts this skeletal wreck.

Break me.
Hate me.
Forsake me.
I am restrained in these remains.
For a time.

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Friday, December 16, 2016

December’s Eyes

Shattered glass reflecting pain
Refracting love
A ring of polished stone
Infinite wells of stardust
Webs of beautiful lies
Catch me as I fall
A forest to be lost in
Embers of imagination
The labyrinth of the soul
Bury my sins
Give me a graveyard to die in
Hope, fear, wonder, screaming—
Questions, doubts, fears
Flicker, flicker, flicker
Something restrained
Something dark
Ink stained memories
Blood stained regrets
Undefined. Unnamed. Disowned.
Divide my existence into equal pieces
And let me go

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Monday, December 5, 2016

A Requiem for a Life not Wasted

I love those instances of  happenstance-
the snowstorm,
the power outage,
the last chance to dance.
The scent of wet pavement.
Eyes that spy beyond my face.
I love these moments more than most-
an old friend or flame like a ghost.
The honesty a child speaks.
Kindred souls and the secrets they keep.
The full moon shredded by stoic pines.
Lips that pout with distaste.
A tear surrendered to gravity,
a glimmer of humanity.
The odiferous cast.
Itchy scabs that won't last.
Paper and pencil. 
Books and pens.
Stories with tragic ends.
Pale skin on a slender frame.
Walking slowly in the driving rain.
Teetering on deception-
deeper, darker, haunting reflections.
The odd. The awkward. The outcast.
The mutt. The runt. The half-blood.
The heartache of true love.

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Monday, November 28, 2016

Beyond the Gate

The creaking of a distant gate;
Breaking waves through the fog,
Settling among the mossy rocks.
My tired fingers play a somber song.
In the blackness, iron bends to the will of empty men.
None of whom I call my friends.
The gate, it swings again.
Some specter crawling on my skull sips liquid dripping from my pen,
Mixing hope with reality.
My mind locked up in fantasy,
I let them in again.
Keys of bone within my grip,
Hear my voice deteriorate in unclean spaces.
Hark this humble, humble, humble cry-
Do not let them in.
All who pass beyond the gate will hurt you.
Latch it tightly before each frost.
This chasm of hate protects us.
Do not forget me.
Lock it now before all is lost.

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