For The Fathers…

This hunky poem is for the Dads The daddyos The "yes, Sir"'s The Papa Bears The "Let me show you how it's done"'s The "Pull my finger"'s The "Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick"'s The sharp crack of a tall can of Keystone Ice and the low groan, easing into … Continue reading For The Fathers…



via Daily Prompt: Blossom Standing in the locker room waiting for it all to hush fabric rubbing tightly against arms there's no way in hell this shit is a towel Maybe it could pass for a thin, white brillo pad; arms sawdust, chest hurricane, kneecaps slowly turning marble; exhalation; thoughts slow, water falls infinitely, imagining … Continue reading Blossom

Quick Update: June 2017

Hello fellow Word Slingers, Poetry Addicts, quick scrollers, Social media clickers, etc. This is just a brief update from me for all of you as you move along in your quick and busy lives. I know that this blog is definitely the best part of your day, whether you're a morning reader, a coffee break … Continue reading Quick Update: June 2017


this one goes out to my unintentional shakers, the ones with thunderstorms in their chests, those that are tweaked with tweaked with tweaked with weakened with lightning as it rocks their spines You and me and Hugo Weaving You and me and Danny Glover we're shaking around, poppin' stillness pills hoping we don't drop and … Continue reading Shook


Nothing is there I'm just sitting, waiting to hear your damned drunken voice the grasp of years spent sucking down thousands of cigarettes and hundreds of gallons of red wine the tannins sucking your mouth into a tight circle the cigarettes folding your vocal folds following the rule of seven seven folds and that is … Continue reading Nothing.


your ambient noises tear through the quiet of each thought. the small sniffing sounds, where snot may or may not exist; the slightly vocalized sigh, where moan and thought cross; the shift of fabric across smooth skin, pulling static through my earbuds; the dry scratch and pull of fingers through fine hair, I've adopted a … Continue reading Ambience

The Unnamed Black of Night

deep jet black evening I'm settled on a trampoline noting in my mind how the liquid in the air distills as if the mason jar of time, once filled with ice, is now sweating onto my skin slowing sound, slowing light, slowing the imaginary workers as they dig permanent creases along my mouth; I'm feeling … Continue reading The Unnamed Black of Night

What’s Beautiful

It's the comedown of it all. the after splash, falling back, air rushing out of faux down, feeling the thought rush in, remembering that sweat is a response to heat not a cause of it. That natural occurrences are sometimes all that are needed to peel our psyche away from the glass of existence and … Continue reading What’s Beautiful