(zero attribute)

i keep thinking
there’s this room
i’m supposed to be in
and it’s all white
and glowing a little,
and my gown is matching
and my knees are up to my chest
my head is shaven
and my feet are bare.
and everything
is finished for me now

Posted in Creative Writing, Poem, poetry, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Heart in England


I had a heart
when I was in England

Heart in England,
morning runs through cemeteries
racing with
Mary’s ghost, merging
with the mist amongst the cenotaphs,
vaporous fingers tracing ancient names
on leaning tombstones,
tracing sweat along my chest
this American boy
pumped legs
round and round,
lighter then, lithe even,
leaping stones
and roots, names
and faces.

Heart in England,
pints pulling,
Bald Faced Stag,
quiet surliness of the local crowd
losing its quiet as
the lager pours,
and that gorgeous, simmering
English anger roars…

Heart in England,
the people forged
by war and war and war,
invasion and repulsion,
the winnowing of the weak,
the island of the strong.
This fortress.

Heart in England,
the poet’s house
around the corner,
writ on water
my Scotch pours over an ancient grave,
the constant, multi-hued gray sky,
the cemetery grass in winter,
beneath my feet
for now.

Heart in England,
the poet in the walled city,
singing songs
love, lust, joy
sorrow. Some
human conditions.
Some rented truths.
Voice a constant
background hum,
hunters eyes just so,
in the dark and light…
English eyes.

Heart in England

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there is an ocean
within you.
dark waters,
dark eyes,

they left me,
and wanted,
a bottle tossed to sea…
a message writ in spit, in sweat,
of groans and exultations.

now tossed like flotsam,
seeking eddies and way back
to your dark waters,
a salty kiss.

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a mind, bound


did not kiss her
when you touched her

the last time,
your entry
lacked finesse –
was more like your marriage,
cold, hard, familiar

inevitable, regrettable


you held her,
wrists above her head,
hips cracking




and again,
and again,
and again

you touched her,
that stranger,
walking by you,
you held her,
your eyes on her skirt,
her strong legs

your mind… and her
in a vice
as you
kissed her

Posted in Longing, Poem, poetry, ust | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Eye Gaze Cannot Ignore (Arrows)

                                                  beach i am going
                                                  I am going beach
                                to (you without)gathering seashells 'n (wind
                                                      sea chuckles)

>>>this is where you are looking, not right, up
                              to where i
right spot
                                                         for your eyeballs
                       [icon insert here(?) :]
                                 25cd956b1dd082185977764777a6e951                               "blam"
when designing/

smashing shells

arrows draw

                               (scroll down, now)

                               i am going to (beach, shells, hell)

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Just Some Time: Audio

A writer I like has done some spoken word, and it reminded me how interesting/ different read vs heard can be. Changes the impact. So, I’m going to record a few of my pieces, for fun (and, because I’m feeling a bit… stuck, at the moment, in terms of writing). My lunchtime today consisted of me at a mic, doing some of this. Hope you like the effort. (Not sure I do…)

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In the Sea

This…. world.
These monkeys,
draped in cotton, fur,
minerals and animal skin.

This… sea of air.
These swimmers,
legs arching,
clutching pouches,
woven worm spit
around their necks.

And I am aching
to drown
within them.

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