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…

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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

Breathing Heavy

I’m running in circles around the quiet padded room of my mind not in an insane way in an effort to tire my thoughts out reeling incessantly through the checklists of propriety making sure that they are correct, right, something set to a standard, and I can’t fuckin’ write, it’s all blocked up, like watching … Continue reading Breathing Heavy

Olive Green [thought cycle]

Olive Green, quiet cotton, pressed feet, written about who knows who. never that that is so close to me. and why, why that dreams are always "Come to me that which I do not want." Not nightmares, nightmares misunderstood as humans passed us; Olive Green, light through glass, unsure of deep set symbolism, sometimes the … Continue reading Olive Green [thought cycle]

Differently and Better

I want the molecules of my body to fall apart. Slow disruption and destruction of self. Just like when you see large pieces of earth slide off of mountain sides from a distance, that's what I want of my body, to shed itself over and over into a pile of cubic pieces that make me: … Continue reading Differently and Better

The Mindfully Quiet One

I'm just sitting here, working on being quiet of the mind, yes, "The mindfully quiet one" imagining my energy emitting from some pit just above my diaphragm. A small, white spark getting larger as I breathe, overcoming me, taking me in its bright cleanliness. Now watching it rocket into a pillar, far into the night … Continue reading The Mindfully Quiet One

Theory About Time (Revisited)

years ago I had a theory about time, that it was much like a standing glass of water, no ice, sitting on a quiet oak table ringed with the wear of the world, and for each human a seperate glass, a seperate table, unique in their own tear and make. The theory persisted that time … Continue reading Theory About Time (Revisited)