Life and stuff, Poetry anytime

I won’t lie.

I won’t lie.

I still find myself in the padded seat of a parked car on beautiful nights like this. Squat in a random lot, with random crickets and indigestion. The trees stand like blank totems and watch me with answers buried in bark. Shadows play on the ground and the radio display dances mute and maniacal. My heart beats fast for nothing and everything, and I think of nothing and everything. In the distance, howling traffic reminds me that things are still happening and that they will always happen. They’ll happen with or without roads, gasoline, corner store buzz and jingle.

Meanwhile the porch lamps burn electric, and I know there are people behind locked doors, between sheets and dreams, and nearly everyone I’ve met is tucked in somewhere, or wandering about, perhaps getting a glass of midnight milk or morning OJ. Or maybe they’re across the plains wide awake in the parking lot of life. In times of uncertainty– that is to say all times– I ache for humanity and every last creature of the night.

Steel wheel, what do you say?
Old shed, give me a clue.
Crowded drain, how ’bout you?


You damn crickets. You remind me that the night is alive, just like all the bars and pubs and people standing outside with faces and words. Well. That’s fine. I can appreciate alive on both sides.

No, I won’t lie.
I still find myself sitting in parking lots, and I still miss the world.

Poetry anytime

Every poet is hungry

Hungry for beans

Hungry for cheese

Baguette, new pair o’ jeans

Hungry for eyes and

soft skin and smells of

perfume or cologne or clove

And there they come

in droves

right now


All hungry to be seen and heard

Don’t you see them?

Just take a glance around

Hungry, hungry poets



Hungry Hungry Poets

Poetry anytime

The hang up is
There’s just not enough time

Everything requires a degree of commitment
if only for the night

Morrison had it right:
We want the world and we want it now

Don’t cry
We do have it

Each morning, there it is!
right under your feet

Again again again
Now, what was the question?

Revelations at 87mph


As promised. Find it here:


From the novel, Literature

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All things mental, Life and stuff

Still alive & sanity check mid-’15

It has been awhile since I’ve posted, but I assure you that I’m still alive, in every which way.

Things are going as they should. I wake up, find my arms and legs in place; face, cheekbones, chirping oiseaux outside the window. They sound happy, and I save the sound for sad times.

The washing machine; well-oiled and working. It whirs and I temporarily forget the birdsong. The whizzing traffic of metropolitan Europe is no different in this regard. I hear sounds only to forget others.

Sometimes, just before dozing into balmy oblivion, I catch my own sounds: beyond sticky blinks, throbbing chest, and measured breaths. Songs of my thoughts and sounds of their echoed endings, leaving me to muse in the choppy Memory Stew that dreams so often are.

I wake up, sifting through the pieces, as we so often do.




Still alive.

This has been a routine sanity check.

It is only a check.