The man in the Ghost.


The leaves billowed from the heavens, a roasted brown or Sunkist yellow. Mixed into the mess is the liter of the ages; a pattern, a rhythm, a song of color against dismal grey concrete. I pass the man with the tenderized face, jeans with holes and a twisted limp. But he smiles, teeth like termites. And though he smiles, later he won’t. And though he greets me with a kind face now, later he won’t. We know this, we know the binary of the demons and the angels. It remains unacknowledged, but the distance is respected.

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

For the Future After the Split


If you could hear my voice

You’d know

That every sentence

Is another line

In another stanza

About the dispersed

Flakes of beauty

In human suffering

For love is the

Past tense of hurt

And past was once present’s


And despite therapists,

Broken hearted epiphanies

It does get better.

Despite all of the self-inflicted pain

And the fallen heroes

Dying at their own hand

For the future after the split

The spilt blood is human

                                Is beautiful

It’s a shame, but the eggs

Are spawned and now

It’s time for mom to go.

Destruction is as unknown

As the phoenix from the ashes,

As the future of the plastic

People after the credits roll

The Wild in Man


Someday I know

I’ll be carving

Tapered, lead poison night

As the holy scribe

Writing from formed

Candle of animal fat

In nothing but rags and a loin cloth

And the scars of experience



Though I hurt you before

My mouth infected with golden hang nails

Puncturing feminine skin

Nerves tap dancing like bursting

Boiled alive blisters

Though you’re the broken heart

I hunt and stalk

Wild and crazed

Possessed by rabid anti biotic

Coursing through brains

To the putrid formaldehyde scrap of my brain

Spawning personal feral entities


Knuckles bruised

Blood painted on concrete walls

Hunch backed

Eagerly anticipating the kill

To leech and destroy

For the joy

Of watching beauty die



Same sad song

Same plain chorus

Of heart break

Self pity pop song

The I so malieable

It seems we all play off of

Cliché, clichette, shit in the red

Solo cup

Cheers, beer, insincere

And the million excuses

That make it her fault

Responsibility is drained

Like crushed cigarette bud

from stale lager

The barbed downward spiral

The words make a cell

my dull quill scratched away,


in the aged cheddar walls.


The Enigma of the Grey Page

stock-photo-wood-textured-backgrounds-in-a-room-interior-on-the-forest-backgrounds-114391438Tripping over the sprouting roots


And sprouting from my psyche.

Looking for meaning

Within the incessant questioning


Mother’s crying behind bruises


The flair of fish belly

And the ocean is a barren

Toxic desert


Work, Class, Love, Work, Class

Through the wrong lens

Liberty is prison


The hand that once nurtured

Strangles smothers

The flowers are all dead


It doesn’t get better

We just keep asking