Deva Victrix

A shrine carved from rock, her face - now flesh molded by wind, by years - still worthy of worship, eyes upon her war, upon yours, her martial song is the wind that carves... (skin of night, lean cheek, flinted eyes, blood-filled lips parting) the last time... she only moaned that song - and then … Continue reading Deva Victrix



When you painted me eggs for breakfast, the little cute ones - smiley faces, mustached, some crowned some done up on little crucifixes made of bone, sinew, spit and tears, my first reaction was one of hollow, righteous indignation, rage. I wanted to hurl them at the sky, smash passing birds, distract airplanes and bring … Continue reading Iconic

We Are in Manic House, Operational and Compromised

Boom, then sounds like shattering glass, fragments of glass, plinking sounds carried on the wind. Boom. Agitated,  the city, men with guns rummaging around yards, snipers on rooftop, jumbles of green, black, blue. Shooting. Shooting past walls, reason resistance. Men are hunters, men are chaos shooting. Bombing. Shattering glass. Helicopters split the air, float and … Continue reading We Are in Manic House, Operational and Compromised

A Muddy of Colors

There is a dissipating storm slipping over the tips of the Alps. A broken man begging coins in Houston. A potter with shaking fingers, no longer mending in Calcutta. My shadow eluding me in dark Boston alleyways. Your eyes are headlamps, mirrored windows, light flashes behind my eyelids. There is a snake, listless, long, and leering, at … Continue reading A Muddy of Colors