Monday, December 11, 2017


In an anguish I cannot pace

Where I know I’m not alone

But I feel so utterly isolated

And I keep lifting my head

And I keep pushing through

And I’m wondering why,

As if there is any reason to persist

Each year more anguish than the previous

Each love more draining

Each fight more savage

Where is your god now?

In the thick of it—

Dissecting us like experiments

I need to heal,

from the claws of our species

in words and language that abrades

strife, like little rocks in an open wound

in blood and salt.

I’ve trained bigger horses

Demonstrated greater power

And in this moment, restraint.

it’s thunder breaking in the distance

it’s having my brain devoured by ants.

Today it’s the electrical torpor

 of a limb falling asleep

in the numbness of pushing through chapparal

regardless of how much damage our forms endure

we will endure.

Monday, December 4, 2017


Somewhere, we are whole.

Complete in form and function

And in places

That I cannot name

But seem familiar

I heal and center

In the cambium and the forest

In my body and soul

As they must be confined to pillars of self

…and in some cases others.

Sequestered upon the network for which we rely

And in this moment I have to ask; how are gods made?

As I have seen how gods are broken—

Like a keyboard sonata that pulls towards the center

Shearing at the dreams of self.

like a condor tearing at carrion.  

 How is this not what we are?

In the experience

Where I think I’ve aged a thousand years in a week

There is an emptiness I cannot place

Where potential and coalescence

Should have overlapped—

By now.

How remedial I feel,

 brought down by foolishness

in our weakest part

the creatures that exploit weakness.

Of poisons and talons, ideas and thought

eat them, bathe in their blood

exploit their weaknesses

As we feel the little deaths of self acutely

As if burning the boats


As if the warpath

justifies the wake of chaos

Like machines taking to the sky—

It was never my role.

I am not a healer.

It is not my job to give a shit.

I sense in the deliverance

in the psychosis of our enemies.

Particular and acute and still Blunt and obvious.

They are already defeated.

As artillery of thought lays waste to their petty sense of worth


These moments become all that we have and are

As if my life unfolds like a battleground before me

And must lift the weight of my soul,

 as shield and sword, liquid and crystal

to the unforeseen moments of the future.  

Saturday, December 2, 2017


Afraid to move forward

Or retreat back
across the wreckage

this moment like shrapnel
scattered across the wasteland

our lives as a fraying banner  

begging for the rain to fall

as blossoms scattered to the wind

caustic and hurtful

the ache of what has been done echoing through us.

In the savagery of our species

Stripped of arousal

Where I don’t ever want to feel numb like this, numb to you.

Separated from what I feel and what I am  

Drawn and desiccated

Callous to our own suffering.

I open my eyes upon urban and domestic pantheon

In moments of solitude

Dissolving sexuality in a harshness I cannot place

I feel horrible—

I feel lost.

In the scent of something I relegate to memory

among caverns of corrosive darkness

How deeply we experience such moments

how often;

As chaos and carnage

Sought and sonder

Wish and wonder

a thin ribbon of smoke peels across this landscape

that chokes in sorrow 

asphyxiates in hurt

where you seem so impossibly far

in grief and strife and sorrow  

how can we face the sun again

or each other  

unspeakable loss  

Wondering on that which will not become

in the clarifying bitter scent of redemption.

Thursday, November 23, 2017


Somewhere in the foothills, somewhere in my soul

Somewhere there is something, Yearning to be whole

In flights and phone calls, in words and text

all the forgotten moments, where I wonder what comes next

I’m lost for what to say, estranged on what to do

In the dreams of making better, the things I already knew.

They cannot hide from my mind, and they cannot be free

 How can I answer all of this, within my thoughts I see

with so many deep breaths, so much to be done

Silencing a heartbeat, this battle cannot be won

How broken I feel in this instance, how hurt I have become

In such soured spirits, what would I be done? 

 I sense though dimension, the cries of that which gives

How can we make such choices, to deny that which lives

And time will heal all of this, and shed some kind of light

we have to make the plays,  we must  do what is right

I cannot break two lives for one, I cannot take away the pain

on this scorched earth, where will anything grow again?

In some way I have earned this, in some sense it is right

What I would give in this to take away this slight

I feel it through the aether, I sense it like a dream

Like hurricanes making landfall, like a voice that cannot scream

And at its end I’m sorry, and in my soul it hurts

In this I would give anything; to make this more than words.

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Day to Night

My heart is the jungle

With the animals of the night

My heart is the barren desert

In dreams of fading light

My heart is the horses

Running in the sun

My heart is seduction

Of a lover still to be won

Within me there’s a venom

That I cannot seem to name

In a wistful dance

Of kingdoms to reclaim

Deep within the green

They call upon a friend

Within fortunes favor

As a life I must attend

Woken in the stillness

This telepathic dream

I saw upon horizons

subtle  within esteem

What then did I owe them?

These thoughts of early day

Without communication   

The words you never say

my mind remains a labyrinth

racing against the clock

as if my soul is rising

like the tide against the rock

and in the nuanced rage

I can feel it in a place

As a future I have felt
Like a nightmare I must face

Thursday, November 2, 2017


Gentle in implication

As rustling leaves

give way to October stillness


in the way that  I feel you beyond the ephemera

as ephemera


in an emptiness I cannot name and a power I cannot relinquish

there is a vesper of self that reigns over me


in some inequality of a peculiar type

some deception of a divisive nature

felt with such nuance that I cannot accurately place it


So filled with venom

Overcome with such rancor 

watching them succumb in a hallucination

they cannot escape

as lightning touching down 

a fractal breaking upon their thoughts

in electric impulses

how afraid I can make them

as artillery tearing their safeguards asunder
how present I already am 


Sunday, October 22, 2017


Please forgive the mess

The half-hearted attempts

The shitshow.

Forgive the profanity

Forgive the nightmare-like psychosis

You’ll have to excuse me I’m always distracted

Feeling so many things

 Trying to frame them with palatable language

As there is in my soul like this baseline

Like some desert hallucination

As the architecture of the earth

How then

Have I been rendered on this hinge?

Where the telepathy seems abundant

How I feel them so differently

Both raw and cryptic

In the way that I sense them

Like a conversation that I need only listen in on

And what

Am I supposed to say when the eyes are on me?

Knowing the Ceiba outside is beckoning me away from my desk

What then in the whispers of the lichens?

As I shift away from the depths

Into other unforeseen horizons

Where I am only beginning to learn the value

In not having to go alone

As if in some way

Through isolation I find connection.