distance

poetry

is NOT the space between two points/
distance/is a tearing sensation/
rending hearts and continents apart/
leaving us to say goodbye/like we mean it/
far too frequently

it
is
a
dropping
sensation.
the
falling
feeling

when something old&expensive hits the floor/
when your foot forgets the ground/and is surprised/
by the next step

4 dec 4

poetry

passive passion is set to see
built from nails red from blood or rust
from the deft and bright sinks helplessly
but watched by those who care in disgust

gift from god a ticket away
handed by those aside the tracks
shovel, conduct, promise to repay
alone with people made out of wax

flapping and jumping all day long
read and remember how it’s done
even sing with arms someone’s proud song
to realize is what makes it fun

dreams from skill and effort end in thud:
if you water dirt you’ll just grow mud

on the valley of good and evil

poetry

she said she said
one more pass through the valley of the moon
one more and all clean

my friend, he does it just thrice
thrice!
thats all and he thinks he’s fine

but i find that shrubbery
a tid bit rubbery

and as hard to keep clean as
booger home with weeds of hair

keep it up till you’re good and done
good and done
i said i said

balikbayan

poetry

We stood in the grey halls of
the arena my hand in
yours. the muted shouts of
the crowd, vicious and
bloodthirsty, threatened to
return me to the reality of
the cockfight we had just
left because as a boy of
eight, the blood was much
more red than i had
expected. and in the
shadows we passed an
old man, skin the color of
cocoa, holding a bird in his
lap. with his calloused
hands he carefully placed the
bluish grey intestines back
into its slashed abdomen—with the
casual air of the weary—and
then began to stitch. the
bird—probably the product of
generations of selective
breeding—stared silently barely
breathing. gone, now, all the rage
of the moment before the fight.

gone
now
all.

ode to science fiction

poetry

my life leaves
much to be
desired since i
am without an
outer space battle
to fight

thus
i watch sci-fi
on many nights
tour the galaxy
defeat the forces
of evil

so call me
a nerd; i’ll reply
“this thing of darkness,
i acknowledge mine”
from my place in
the pre-sale line

because don’t you know:
escapism makes life
bearable

ode to the giant of james laughlin

poetry

dr. jay ellis says you should
have kept your job as an edit-

or and never have moved into
the world of writing but he

was one of eight self proclai-
med cormac mcarthy-ists and we

all know how much that validat-
es his opinion but i wish that

i could invite you back from
the grave to come and stop by

my local barnes and noble and
do a simple reading of your fine-

est work and share with us just
how brilliant each of your well

picked words was and laugh at
those who’ve survived you like

one mccarthy-loving-poetry-hate-
ing-extremely-sad-and-confused-dr.

our careful words

poetry

i want to write a poem
and then speak it like a spell
causing all those who hear it
to go home and compose their own

like glass
shattering
with each
shard then expanding

only to
break again:
infinitely expanding and infinitely shattering

until our world is a stained glass window
reflecting the sun’s light through
our careful words.

in my defense, i want you to know, i want you to remember

poetry

you see
hack and slash
murder and slice
sound better with a beat

i have to offer an
uhpalluhgee

you see
my words sound much better
with a sweet. slow. melody.

and i uh
pall er
jize

because today the music is staying
in my head
today the music is staying
in my head

in my head
but the chorus is sweet.
and you’re missing the slow
melody
and my words sound much better
with the melody

or with flatulence.

either one.

and there goes the beat.