Thursday, June 15, 2017


the dream is to remain, retain
knowledge as soulless remains,
after this Armageddon

the dream, is to be conscious dust,
perhaps rust, upon shards
of a shattered Excalibur

the dream, is to stay awake, even
as heavens break, even
as hells overflow
and cosmic dirt settle
and remake the planetscape

the dream is for you and i
remembering the why, as to
our purpose on this earth,
whether it was to sink together,
into new oceans, infiltrate oysters,
be one pearl? or was it to swirl
around every wind pattern,
rewriting our favorite epics
in cursive, until we inflict
ourselves upon the new man
and terrify him into religion


Thursday, May 11, 2017


if i may coerce you into
partaking in my delusions,
today i invite you to think of
social media as an ocean
where each of us maintains a harbor
from which we fish bottles from the water,
each with a message, often
the caliber of garbage,
but in rare times we get one
that has your name on it, and
the story that comes with it
tells of your fall in your battle with cancer,
but it also tells of your valiance and defiance,
of you yielding no spoils to your nemesis
outside a small decimal in statistics,
and that way you will have at least
left me a little satisfaction,
instead of this mundane, ordinary, tasteless,
numbing experience of having learned
of your demise via a social media comment tag,
when we both know you were meant to have
an elegy bards would have
sold their mothers for


Monday, April 17, 2017

spend your skill points on small talk, trust me

if words were solutions
to the complex problems between us,
that distance,
that void
that demanded to be filled,
was i,
out of my depth -
not knowing the right words
that could have pulled at you,
or did i need to find
that hidden combination?
was i close,
was i so,
far off -
had i the wrong things,
the wrong words?
had i the wrong accent,
the wrong language?
had i the wrong problem,
had you the wrong me -


Thursday, February 23, 2017

i can't put my head on

on my shoulder is
a sinkhole
the size of
a small galaxy
it is from
that one time
your head needed
a rest from
the rest of you

i don’t remember you
leaving bodily
liquids, at least not
the kind that
can burn through
skin and
flesh and
bone but
there’s this sinkhole
your face left on
my shoulder

i can’t put my head on
an angle, one that
allows me to
look deep into
myself through
this sinkhole, but
someone risked one
peek into
the abyss in
the middle of me
and she told me
many dark things i
already know, and
then she told me
my heart is

so this is
what it is
all about, i wanted to
ask you, if you had
anything to do
with this. if you
took it, will you
return it, what do you
want in exchange,
where and when; and
i am sorry if you
expected me to
have caught you
in the act, i was too
enamored with
watching your hair
in an affair
with the wind, lapping
at my cheek that day,
receding, surging,
surging, receding,
the softest
tidal waves


Thursday, February 16, 2017

screw, sonically

you may never guess
the number of times i have
deferred my extermination,
i have lost track,
lost count, myself,
nor have i kept
a tally of the many times
i have evaded deletion,
or consumption by angels,
or by the Silence,
or other extraordinary perils
from every pocket of
the closets of time,
but you,
you would have fallen
to any of them, unless you
have this same thing i do,
in my pants,
this wibbley-wobbley,
this timey-wimey,
pen-like thing,
which we strive to convince everyone
that it’s just a tool meant
to push metal pins
around tiny, finite,


Monday, January 30, 2017


scientific method suggests
my Samsung phone is a Decepticon,
i am convinced it sends love text messages in alien runes
to another of its kind across the globe at 3AM
when it thinks i am asleep,
and i know their love is designed in circuits
that spells destruction and/or domination of all humans

my Macbook is a Decepticon,
it is better at trying to stay concealed
yet it feels a degree warmer to the touch and that says a lot,
that concludes it uses energy transforming every time
i leave for the water cooler.
i still have to determine what it does when in evil robot form.

is the USB cable one of them too?
or is it already transformed, only it botched mimicking a serpent?
i think so, i think so.

i am very close to identifying them all -
i am 87.87% certain the TV is a Decepticon.
and the refrigerator in the pantry. one of the power banks.
surely not my car - too obvious, too obvious. maybe my glasses:
i thought i momentarily had Terminator-like vision once,
when it had a glitch and it hoped i did not notice.

so if you are reading this.
on my Macbook you just stole.
slowly, slowly
inch away
you must live!!!
and when you deem it safe!
you must find Shia LeBeouf!
break him out of jail!
ask him to save the world again


Friday, December 23, 2016


moons hung in place
of other heavenly bodies,
since you told me you kept
a piece of the night in the pools
of your eyes, and that
it was a mistake
to have dived into them. but
i wanted an answer and
there were no other places
to extract knowledge of you
out of, not outside your own
universe rabidly kept close to
and within yourself -

and so we rewrote our world
into having cold, cratered orbs
stuck to our ceilings, grey
and hard and unfeeling like old
and over-chewed gum. we moved away
from having luminescent suns
and learned to love in darkness,
at least on my part, removing
the need to pay respect to
the made-up looks
you may have invested hours into,
in powder rooms of every house
we’ve been in.

and sometimes when lightning
disrupts our blindness
it is a reminder, constant, consistent, cruel,
and it is truth, torturing, tenacious, terrible
that i cannot know you -
that i never can.