Cut While Shaving


5:03 am and it’s still dark outside.
I splash water on my face, lather it
up pretty good and then glide
the razor across.

who is this creature behind these green eyes I see?
who is this soul inside driving the vehicle of my body?
who is this heedless wayfarer in search of the unsearchable?
who is this demented wanderer looking back at me?

why am I conscious of it all, my past, my looming death? Continue reading


Violent Dawn


fragments of a ravaged night
spiders across the sultry dread
as the lark harmonizes narcotic
hymns aloft the long time dead.

and there she is again
dancin’ barefoot in the
with a bottle in hand,
gazing into the night
taking spontaneous pulls
to dilute the agony
of the dying light.

just look how stunningly mad she is.
look how she sways to the melody
of her own dark.

some say she made a pact with the devil
some say she has a fetish for the dead
some say she’s a witch, a whore,
a midnight tramp, a ‘crazy bitch’ adrift
inside her own shattered head.

maybe she’s all of them.
maybe she’s none.

but never could she lead
the kind of life like the rest –
masked, playing a part
untouched unscarred
cautiously intact
wretchedly dull
and oh so pathetically
predictable in their cutthroat
allegiance to the
white picket fence
of the so-called
American Dream.

there’s no thunder in their minds
no lightning in their veins
they love halfheartedly
they hate halfheartedly
they live halfheartedly
they lack the imagination
to question anything and
everything, particularly
the collective morality
that dictates their
brief little

unlike them
her soul throbs desperately
with the heart of the universe
between rapture and rage
poetry and madness
life and death.

her internal living flame
glows like a lantern deep in the
caverns of a withering world
as the insipid moralizers
with apocalyptic eyes
look on from the threshold,
safe and sound, fearful of the sacred –
the kingdom within that only
the fearless come to know.

just a mere taste of her sensuality
ignites volcanoes of oxytocin –
sloshing splashing spraying
cascading into the bloodstream

and the great wars erupt
and the great empires crumble
and the great kings fall
and the world comes to an end.

with a ravenous hunger, she bites
forbidden fruit of serpent trees
in the luscious garden of unborn light.

in spite of her turmoil, in spite of her
desperate rage, she’s wildly alive,
unafraid, reborn daily into the night
out of a fierce suffering
as she dances in the divine dirt
trespassing in and out of time
under the swaying pines
above the forgotten bones
of a place beyond

forever nurturing her ardent dreams
never wasting the violent dawn.

Mad Love


Her place, a world beyond ours,
was strange. I sat on the hospital bed
looking into those mystique eyes,
so mysterious, so wild. It was just
after one of her spells and the nurse
called me in.

I was told this one was intense.
She was disheveled looking,
with her legs tucked into her chest,
barefoot, rocking back and forth
with her cheek resting on her right knee.

She was staring out the window
at a world that did not want her,
a world she did not want in return. Continue reading

Jehovah’s Witnesses At My Door

jehovah’s witnesses knocked on my front door the other day.

two old ladies, sweet and pleasant.

with styish southern hats
they were standing on my porch
smiling, as I opened the door.

my hair disheveled, shirtless,
my tattooed body staring
at them.

they greeted me with nervous eyes
as they talked to me about their god.

they smiled, made small talk, and
read their cherished scriptures
written by unknown authors.

soliciting their view of salvation.
the key to eternal life.

it took all I had not to expose
some of the great fallacies
in their belief system.

i wanted to tell them to never stop
searching, never stop asking, never
stop being curious. because that’s
where true salvation was found.

it took all I had not to remind them
that just because they were devoutly
passionate in their beliefs
doesn’t mean that their
beliefs were accurate.

i wanted to ask them if they
really thought that their god
treated the righteous man,
Job, fairly.

i wanted to ask them why
their god let himself get caught up
in a gamble with satan
at the expense
of a tortured innocent man.

i wanted to ask why their god
so often yielded to the evil one,
his first beautiful son.

but I was quiet. i let them read
and I politely took their pamphlet.
I gave them a thank you smile.

they had their mind made up.
their brain locked in,
conclusions forever imprinted
like a tattoo.

there’s no changing that.

as they left, i shut my door,
tossed the paper into the trash
and headed out back to my patio.

i sat beside the dead ferns
and the stale leaves
that had fallen from
my backyard oak.

i took a long pull from my whiskey,
and sucked in my version
of salvation
through a cheap cigar,
then slowly exhaled,
gazing, as the smoke
gently drifted up
to an empty sky.

and as I sat back,
trying to find my place
in the book I was reading,
my mind wandered and
i caught myself recklessly
nonsensical thoughts
about fate, eternity
and immortality.

damn them sweet old ladies

they got



Politics will dry you up.
Fast. Just like college
debt and a bad marriage.
And if you invest too much
into it, emotionally,
it’ll drive you to madness
or heart disease or even worse,
very quickly.

You’ll fall into the sludge
of self-righteousness. You’ll
start regurgitating nonsensical
slogans from the party you
associate with. And even worse,
it’ll put you at odds with your
fellow man,
of course,
is the ultimate goal
of politics
in the first place. Continue reading

Shacked Up

37886wideI was shacked up with a beautiful
alcoholic brunette
who liked to make love on rainy
hungover mornings.
When we’d get done
she’d make us both a stiff drink
and we’d dance to music
as the sound of rain
hammered the windows
in the grey dawn. After 5
I’d start reciting my poetry
on top of our kitchen
table. She’d screech out
“you’re never gonna make it,
you fuck.”

“Fuck you” I’d retort,
“I’m a fucking genius,
you just can’t see it
cause you’re a fucking drunk.”

Then I’d make us both
a stiff drink
and we’d make love again
as the rain came down
and never stopped.

Don’t Be Like Them


Don’t be like them. They want you in the ranks,
the mob — the clan of dullards who want you
to live according their stifling ideals.

They want you brain dead and
soul dead like them. They want
you to work the 9-5. They want
you in a cubicle. They want you
to be a sitcom watcher. They want
you to pledge to their flags and
worship their gods. They want you
take a side. They want you to settle
with their politics and vote for
their two-faced leaders.

They need to be led
because they’re too weak
to lead themselves. Continue reading