Again

When it comes
to baring oneself,
there are always

plenty of
words, no
guarantees.One
always loves

more than
the other.
The high, then
the sinking

Feeling
in the pit of
your tummy.

Every thing becomes
nothing. Words are
sludge on a wall of

old vines that pierce
and twist into
the heart time
and time
again.

creeper

i peer through the lattice
hot breath beneath the misty reflection

and there you are,
bun and bathrobe
type-type-typing away

i shake with glee
at the thought of
extracting your eyes
one by one
though I don’t have a clue as to what color they are

no matter. I am sure they will make
a lovely garnish in
a well-mannered dirty martini
to sip while you simmer
thrashing for me to stir you up

To the Pretty Lady on the 19

There is more to me
Than you can see.
Why won’t you smile my way?
Is it my wiry, wispy beard
That makes your eyes slit
Behind the shades?
Or can you not imagine my tar skin
Wrapped around your milky way?
Could you get past the gimpy limp,
My stammering lisp,
And the haggard hole
In my flannel shirt?
If you would just give me the day
I could manage without my
Duct-taped cane.
You could fit yourself
In the crook of my scarred arm,
And I could hold you up.

clear view

the late may
breeze
flows
through the
sheer pur-
ple curtains,
a silky Caber-
net waterfall.
smelling of
freshly bag-
ed crab car-
casses, it
sways the
old lady’s sheets
as the gnats
lay eggs on
the corners.
out of no-
where, on the
sill, a star-
ling stares me
in the eye,
and i
do not
move.
only
breath
escapes
me.
the oak's leaves
are a song
that only we
can under-
stand.

how fitting

every-thing is nothing:just like
[you]actually
the funniness of it all
is that your carefully-
seamed years
soon might so
shred/oh no
[look]what seemed to
happen/
trim an edge;smooth a corner
= tem x infinity

I Just Need a Lil'

Every now
& then
I just need
a lil’ bill $$
a lil’ beer $$
a lil’ food $$
and every now
& then
I just need
a lil’.

Reconstruction

A stone among boulders,
I jut and gleam between punts.
Flung hastily, I am chipped;
My rough, spackled edges
Ingrained with her slag,
Surfacing in his whiskey river.
More silvery than the others,
I drown in the murkiness
Of the puddle that envelops me.
Bludgeoning myself with words,
Aimlessly searching for direction,
I surrender to shoddy structure;
Bequeathing my pain to the past.

A stone among boulders,
I am an instrument, a tool;
I smash and erect new beginnings.

Black Cloud

It’s existed forever: hovering,
Seeping with sepia memories,
Night-creeping, wreaking havoc,
Filling every corner and crevice.

Reeking of thirty-year old booze,
Boo-boos, berating and

I would wonder what
the point of it all was.

Seeing happiness seemed
doomed, for everything was
temporary, and still is. Striving
to be better—than what?

For what? Then what?

The One That Got Away

everyone has one
i didn't until a few
years ago. younger,
inside my head, out
of my league, a real
cutie pie. smokin
cloves, sweaty sex
forever and ever. oh
the distance ate him,
moving onto and into
another upstairs.
everything and nothing
will take place. i am
The One That Got Away
everyone has one

A Question

What good
are feelings
if they are
only
temporary—
fleeting
with a
pang of
blindness/
acceptance,
only to melt
and mold
into a
sweltering
sting,
forcing one
to face
what should
never be?

Red Line: Shady Grove

It slithers in nothingness, transmitting us Home. In its womb, we rock to the swaying of the cradle capsule. We eventually drift away to the lulling ultrasonic hum, and cease the chewing of our minty pacifiers.
Then, it is time. Shielding our eyes from the sunlight that rushes closer and closer…
We burst out with a swoosh. Discombobulated, we are forced to deduce who we are, and why we are here.

De Void

Why must I make a person
to be seen as a whole?

Do my years lack
some divine meaning
because the gears
of the Factory still churn
and all I’ve got to show for it
are aunt flo’s diapers?
Will my high balls be boarded
from housing shriveled-
up punkin seeds?
Are my milkless mounds
stretchless wastes of fat sacs
undeserving of a sucker?

Maybe I’ve missed my Chance.

“Don’t say that” they say.
I don’t answer to the flock.
While they catch
the worms,
I conceive in my empty
nest of
Words.

Acceptance is
the best medicine,
or so I say.

Hey Hon

Eastern & Clinton:

the C.H.U.D.S. chew
and spit
into a Slurpee cup.
Skoal juice spurts thru
crevices where
teefs used to be.
clutching a
Natty Boh,
Frank from G & A
finishes his 2nd
crabby cake of the day, and,
lighting a Camel,
heads on over to
The Silver Dollar,
where boiled
pigs’feet
and cabbage
await.

welter words

in our mind,
cyclonic words
burn with unreadiness;
this hit of literal smack
seeps into our veins.
the whirlwind of words
simmer s in souls;
excruciatingly intangible,
they are bigger than us.
waiting to be dispelled, they
crash on our tongues
until they mingle and mate,
creating the being
of welter.

This was published in the beginning of 2010's Welter, The University of Baltimore's literary journal.