The Trial and Conviction


Limbs crack and break

Under grey

Cottage cheese snow

And the woods transformed

Into a barren battlefield

Fallen foe and friend

Frozen and forgotten on

The forest floor

In the end

the littered cigarette buds,

 plastic coated coffee cups,

the subconscious transaction

of future for convenience

Will be tried

as murder.

We all take a sip,

When we choke on air,

swallow toxic cake


Water thicker than ash

Slowly waiting

For lead poisoning

To take us all

Future America


Gurgling gum drop gunman

Mickey mouse mangled

Mutilated, maimed

Must have been Islam

American kids breathe, tamed

Only blissful misfits

Damned with the blame

gurneys so gullible

indolent infection

invest in the insects

As the Blade Grows Dull

An opportunity has opened itself up to me
But I haven’t the power to bewilder with the sounds of consonances and the arsenal of synonyms and similes

I haven’t the alliteration to make malevolence or malice meander or to minimize how much I abhor assholes with affluent bank accounts basking in the dimes and dollars that surely must define their quality of being.

The words lack a certain finesse.
My metaphors are small grains at the bottom of the sand box
Untouched by hands or urine
Unheard and left unattended

My personification cannot bring life to the sad cup of pencils on my desk staring at me, pleading with me for a caress.

I’ve never
Had the
Line breaks
To stay tuned
To the pitter patter
Of rain

On shaking hand and knee in front of sanctimonious espresso stand, begging for one more cup of coffee I don’t understand the addictions the literary greats went through.