Sitting upstairs in a little shop,
I decided to write and never stop.
I'll write until I get tired,
or perhaps until I get fired...

But who knows, all I ever do here is mop
and sometimes clean the marble tabletop.

So I'll write until I get hired
or until someone decides to become a buyer.
Buy my silly stories or my serious ones
or some of my poems full of wondrous puns...

And I'll put out some crazy flyers,
maybe ask favors for Michael Myers.

He'll wave in your face with a gun -
well, I do hope he'll be having fun -
and you'll have no choice
(unless you don't want to lose your voice),

(Meaning you'll be dead, you know, done
kaputz, sleeping with the fishes, the sum of none...)

to buy it. My writings can melt a block of ice
with the warmth it emanates not once but thrice!
So read them at least once,
or you'll be labeled a lazy dunce.

Untitled (Anonymous)

...to me, she seems a peer of goddesses,
the woman who sits facing you,
and hears your sweet voice
and lovely laughter.

...it flattens my heart in my chest
when I see her only for a moment.
I cannot speak,
my tongue is broken.

...a subtle fire runs under my skin;
my eyes cannot see, my ears hum.
cold sweat pours off me;
shivering grips me all over.

...I am paler than the winter grass,
I seem near to dying...
all must be endured.

Higher and Higher

Floating just above the treetops
we silently gaze at the canopy and run our fingers through
the soft corduroy leaves.
Plumes of silk solemnly drift by
ignoring our half-hearted attempts to touch it.

The fire is lit,
and we float higher, and we climb
into the clouds, surrounded by their cotton,
stringy fibers and tranquility.
Fragrances of vanilla slowly creep up on us
and gingersnaps climb into our pockets.

The fire is lit,
and we float higher, and we climb
higher and higher and higher
and higher and higher and
we never stopped.


Injured Albatross, calmly
waiting impending death,
gawking at the others
flying above.
No food, no sustenance,
no miracle.


Perfect Loss

I play to lose; that's what I seek. You may not understand, coming from a mainstream view of this so-called winning. Winning isn’t everything. Winning doesn’t bring everyone joy. Winning is whining.
I play to lose; that’s what I seek: a perfect loss. A perfect loss – it’s the perfect way to end your wins. It’s the perfect way to end your life. It’s the perfect way to abort to terminate to expire to cease to finish to halt to conclude. It’s the perfect way to lose.

I Was

I was
the forerunner to your
every unforgivable whim
in view of the masses.

I was
discouraged, hopeless; your
empty words fell on
dozing ears
as the guns of
Bristol awoke from
their deep slumber
enticed by the stars in
the heavens.

I was
reborn under the
Bristol moon
untouched by your
scathing words, your
despicable looks.


Sitting here, in a
library ‘cubicle’
wondering what
to write about today.

I look up to see
‘John Milton is a twat’
and I imagine
he’s really a twat.

Paradise Lost sucked,
Paradise Regained sucked.
What was Blake thinking?
John Milton is a twat.

Mortal Grasp

She died lonely,
it was unfair.

Surrounded by people,
yet dying alone.

We cried for her.

Cried for her loneliness
in the distant darkness
just out of our
mortal grasp.

We cried out of necessity.

We’ll see her again
soon enough;
we all die alone.

Set the Trend, Pig

Look on the news, it’s swine flu in New York. Look it up on Google, I’m not lying. Soon enough we’ll all get that virus.
I’m so jealous of the first bro to get swine. To be the first to spread the trend? I’d jump on that train first before yall.
Soon it’ll be ‘cool’ for you to have swine. The ones that don’t have swine would be ‘uncool’ and be ‘losers’.
People can call us ‘pigsters’ but we’ll all hate that term.
Damn, I wish I was the first altbro to get swine yall.

“Georges Poulet, Phenomenology of Reading”

When I
am absorbed in reading,
a second self
takes over,
a self which thinks and feels for me.

Withdrawn in some recess of myself, do I
then silently witness this dispossession?

Do I
derive from it
some comfort or, on the contrary,
a kind of anguish?

However that may be,
someone else holds
the center of the stage,
and the question which imposes itself, which I
am absolutely obliged to ask myself
is this: “Who
is the usurper who occupies the forefront? What
is this mind who all alone by himself fills my consciousness
and who, when I say I,
is indeed that I?


The Fallen

The rhythmic tapping
of the people clapping
hooks the minds of many –
Before ascending,
to be transcending,
the Cardinal flew away.

The despicable lots
of the heathen that brought
the gritty war of ’57 –
Those highly exalted
broke the amendments
and their filth stank to high heaven.

White House Saddam

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Saddam Huss-
-ssein, for I walked down the side streets by the iron fences
with a migraine self conscious looking at the waning moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and white washed thoughts
I ended up in front of the capital landmark, dreaming of
your atrocious mistakes!
What Sunnis and Shi’ias! Whole fam-
-ilies murdered at night! Rows of dead corpses! Columns of
dirt piled high for wives, babies, husbands! – and you,
Saddam, what were you doing behind closed doors?

I saw you Saddam Hussein, two kids, yet lonely, old
grubber walking around the Oval Office and lifting the
president’s pen to inspect its origin.
I heard you asking questions of each: “Why are women here
not in veils? Which way is towards Mecca? Are you Obama?”
I wandered in and out of the adjoining rooms and walls
following you, and followed in my imagination: a ninja.
You strode down the completed hallways, admiring the portraits
of the farmers, enveloped in the sublimity of their work, never
ending up at the foyer.

Where are you going, Saddam Hussein? The guards are
looking for us. Which way to your executions tonight?
(I though your flag and dream of our odyssey in
the White House and feel contaminated.)
Will we walk all night, through gritty streets?
The trees add shade-to-shade, lamps flicker on and off,
we will both be afraid.
Will we stroll dreaming the lost generations past the
cemeteries in Arlington?
Ah Saddam, you old cock, what did America do to
put you in such a disposition when Leodis Mckelvin
fumbled the ball to give the Patriots the lead?


Egg (A Sestina)

I turned a corner on Winspear Avenue and I saw an egg
on the ground, pulsating. I picked it
up and brought the egg back to my house.
I left it alone for about a week or so.
I had forgotten about the egg until I
noticed my bed had risen an inch from the ground!

With my stomach on the ground,
I looked for the egg
under my bed. I
saw it
pulsating and about the size of a sleeping coyote so
I tried rolling it away from my house.

The egg was stuck to the house,
the floors, the foundation, the ground.
It would not budge what so
ever. This egg
did not want to leave. I wanted it
to leave, to return to “I” and not the “egg and I”

to save my house,
tried breaking it:
the ground,
the egg,
but it wasn’t so.

ate the egg
after cutting away from the house,
away from the ground
after youtube demonstrated it.

The yolk, it
had a phlegm-like consistency so
I stomped on it on the ground
added skim milk and peppers and I
cooked it in my house.
The egg
and I,
in my house:
I am the egg.


'Nemmie' (A Sestina)

I found a duck today and I caught it.
Decided to call it 'Nemmie'. We were chill.
Nemmie and I roamed the streets usually at night
and we picked on little kids. It was fun.
We would cheer and high five each other
and share ice cream sometimes.
Nemmie jokes about me getting avian flu. I get scared sometimes.
It's cool though, I never got it.
We tested each other -
I coughed and Nemmie coughed - no avian flu. It's chill.
We went out and threw crayons for fun.
I think that was last night?
Wait, I am positive that it was last night.
I get like this sometimes;
my memory decides to blank out for fun.
I hate it.
Nemmie thinks it's not chill
and that I should stop drinking so much. I think we care about each other.
The constitutive 'other', the opposite of same; Nemmie is my 'other'.
We decided on this very night.
Nemmie is a duck and I'm a bear but we're mad chill.
When we walk down Main Street, people scream at us sometimes.
I think it's me but Nemmie doesn't let me believe it.
We went to a mall and I stole a scooter. It was all in good fun!
I drove the scooter into a fountain. Nemmie laughed, I laughed, we had fun
until of course, security came for us. We held each other.
The security guard had a pack of cigarettes. I asked for it.
Nemmie asked for a night
light. I use it sometimes.
Night lights are chill.
Jail cells are not chill.
Jail is not fun.
I get visits sometimes
but not from Nemmie, it's some other
person at night
and I hate it.
I wish there was some other
way to spend my night
and not relive it.


Poetry From A Bear Cub (A Sonnet)

The river is cool, I saw Pepsi cans
Mommy took me fishing at the river.
I scared the fish away, she smacked me hard.
We saw Humans fishing – they saw us too!
I peed in the river. Mommy said ‘Hi’.
The Humans ran away, they don’t know us.
Mommy went and wept under a big tree.

Sometimes I like to spy on the Humans.
When they go to bed, I pee on their car
and I sit by their table wondering,
wondering why that moose cries at sundown,
and wondering why I don’t have a thumb.
If I did, I would play gameboy all day
and console that crying moose at sundown.

Pinot Noir (A Sonnet)

I’m sitting in Charlie’s well-kept backyard,
drinking three glasses of pinot noir.
It’s my surprise birthday party you see,
it’s my twenty-seventh birthday party.

Lindsay is already drunk – stumbling.
Maybe she will keep her legs shut this time.
People walk around congratulating,
celebrating a step closer to death.

Charlie’s girlfriend is by the swimming pool
she wears a low cut, revealing red dress.
Everyone stops to take a better look.

As I finish my fourth glass of wine, I
look at her through the bottom of my glass
and I’m wondering if her breasts are real.

Starry Sky (A Sonnet)

Looming high above, a beautiful pearl
perfect circle, reflecting off the sea
silver shadow of the moon naturally
before my eyes the starry sky unfurls
like the innocence of a teenage girl
and the moon emerges from clouds with glee
it then disappears from view playfully
but not before giving the stars a whirl.
Just for one moment it shines with splendor
becoming a dull color of silver
still it looks beautiful, with great fervor
like the golden hues of tasty nectar.
When I see the moon I only wonder
poems thanking her being stellar.

Beautiful Sunlight (A Sonnet)

Unfamiliar places I’ve traveled far,
arduous and difficult it has been;
becoming dark and dreary, falling star
the only thing that night to make me grin.

Here I lie and all I think about is
the next morning when the sun will rise up
and guide me through this terrain with brightness
I wonder if I should wait for sun-up.

When I awake, I feel my body washed
in soothing warm light; my sanctuary
as its brother stands, Darkness flees and hides
cool, clammy feelings that left my dreary.

Beautiful sunlight, bringing glorious
warmth unparalleled; serendipitous.

As the Sun's Rays Fade (A Sonnet)

As the sun’s rays fade, I can’t help but look
up at the heavens in amazement and
become enchanted by the stars above.
Billions if not infinite amounts are
positioned directly above my head.

The starlight guides my feet to a clearing,
I have been here the previous night,
watching the heavens, at the glimmering
seductive gazes of the stars, my love.

I am entranced by the beauty of them
and feel slightly jealous of the night sky.
I begin to open my arms to them
to be enveloped by the crepuscule
the stars that lights my world tonight, my love.


An Ode to Oroonoko


So blesséd is he, young Oroonoko
standing tall, gallant, and handsome;
thrilling as a thirty year old Thoreau
ready to fight whatever may come,
he stood his ground until deceived by a bro.

The lamenting beats of the bongo drum
can still be heard in Sierra Leone
asking where Oroonoko had gone.

Now a slave in a south temperate zone,
taken prisoner, made a courtier,
there he was in Surinam living on his own.

While walking along a wooded chantier.
he found Imoinda, his first amour
to which he cried, “Nous sommes immortalisé!”
She was lost before and now found once more,
And now their love was fortified hardcore.


Drawing the ire of the king and now
the ire of the English deputy,
the two lovers decided to take a vow.

Marriage they believed to be the mighty,
taking their love to a higher point,
this is when their marriage turned deadly.

Oroonoko was disgraced at gunpoint,
in front of owners of slaves
by the English deputy who wanted to make a point.


Drawing on this experience
he decided that no one could be trusted,
and so honorable Oroonoko prepared to face death with great grievance.

Imoinda, his love, offered her life to him, which he granted
and so she died, with a smile on her face,
leaving him with nothing to live for, facing death undaunted.
He was tied up and left for Death’s embrace
whipped and dismembered, all without a cry
he began preparing to leave this forsaken place.

O Brave Oroonoko, good bye, goodbye
your legend still lives on as time passes by.


Poem by a Bear Cub

The river is cool
Mommy took me fishing 2day
I scared teh fish awai
she nipped me on the reer.

we saw humanz fishing
they saw us fishing
I peed in teh river.

Mommy said hello
the Humans ran awai
they don't understand us

sometimes I like to spi on them.

when they go to bed, I pee on their car
and sit by their table
and wonder why I don't have a thumb.
if I did I'd play Gameboy all day.


sitting in Charlie's backyard
drinking Pinot Noir
Charlie's wife is by the pool
as I finish my wine I look at her through the bottom of the glass
and I wonder if her breasts are real

quiet fertile lands of westphalia

Silent speech of the naked trunks,
grieving, aching for the deliverance of spring.
Reminiscing of whence they were robed
in fertile colors of wealth.
In bon temps will they thrive,
once more in splendor of kings.

without guidance

Not writing on my notepad
I begin to type.
Words mercilessly pounded onto the screen
essentially prone to a wipeout.
What is this jumble of nonsense?
With no guidance, it begins
flowing out like a river.
Heavy streams of
nonchalant writing,
no care in the world.
Why is this happening?

with it, danger

Little cracks in the wall
orchestrated by time,
the faulty enamored
just infatuated.
As the cracks melt away
exposing the heartstrings,
gaps are made in the wall
unable to be fixed.
A derelict courting
left here collecting dust,
begins to pick up pace
to restart what was done.
"Life must go on," it said,
with great aspiration.
"I will not fail again,
perhaps this is my last."
And so it marches on,
slowly clothing itself,
not looking back at time.

winter drifts

Biting Winds,
harried drifts,
necessary for a blisterin' day.
Bundled up,
feeling warm,
I face the hasty morn all alone.
Nine-teen out,
freezing cold,
the wicked cold threatens to kiss me.
snow lay on ground,
"Crunch," the snow screams from under my foot,
O, the joy
perfect bliss,
small ways of getting back at winter.

Garbage Truck

Dressed in red and brown,
red and orange jewels glinting light,
brown smog spewing from its silver pipe.
Here comes the brigade,
the garbage truck of Chenago,
hungry and ready to trash.

white Explorer

That white Ford,
so elegantly named Explorer,
exploring the highways.
Rightfully drenched with dirt and debris from foreboding roads.
It's life rumbles on to a destination unknown.


Disease ridden shores
in from nature's womb
began to create in defense of our
self-fulfilling lives.


I live,
only through cacophony,
a beautiful collaboration
of tone deaf symphonies.

I live,
perhaps in ambiguity
but really, who doesn't?

I live,
perplexed at my choices
and ponder at times,
was this an act of God?

I think,
therefore I know
that indeed I live.

too much

Too much love,

Too much heart,

Too much care,

to Buffalo

Cramping calves,
atrophied thighs,
Creaky back, sore neck.
Tired eyes,
numb ears,
Frazzled hair, dry lips.
Not even halfway there,
how am I going to last?


The day comes to a close,
full of disenchanted trees,
foreboding it seems, but without ambition.
Does that make it exceptional?


I know we've known one another
for such a short period of time,
but that's what makes it beautiful.

A chance for you and I to
get to know one another,
better to go from
you and me
to us.

You and I,
we must be fated
to be.
It may not seem so now,
but the way I feel about you
although not so clear to you
is truly valid and without doubt.

Though not quite in love,
I'd love to spend time
the two of us holding hands.
Walking stride for stride.
Such petty things
seem romantic.

I'd travel that distance
to be next to you.

the spruce

Spruce lightly dusted with snow
stands quietly among the others
all sleeping, dormant during the freeze.
Silently flexing, it brushes the snow off,
quickly receding to its original position.
It stands unnoticed by passerbys,
all admiring the dearth of buds,
in awe of slumber; of temporary death.

the departure

There I stood with a face,
cast sullen with whitewashed regret.
Our unconditional subjectified love
torn to shreds undignified
"Au revoir, m'amour," she called
waving her handkerchief as if
submitting to a greater unknown.
Blinking back tears with trepidation
I motion, in one
describing my adoration of
her decadent beauty
and despondence.
My final farewell to
the dearly departing.

table for one

Sitting at a table, alone
I wait for someone to approach me,
talk to me - converse.
Chewing softly, I tread,
thanking servers, polite.
Still no one notices.
I'm just background filler.

crystal clear

Oars of repentance
bring false hope to me
forsaken, murdered.
It has taken place.
Deceit in my life,
seeming affluent.
Today it all ends.

Heartless Thread

A conduit of insipid conversation -
this girl talks to me about
I just nod,
peering over her shoulder
checking to see if
I know


I turn my face back to her.
still talking about that
damn t-shirt-
listen lady
all I want to do
is take your
pants off


The conjoining of hands
Oblivious to the cruelty
out of these walls,
it blossoms.
Blossoming into


a pretty girl
legs bound in stockings-
spandex perhaps-
accentuates her divine
walking on carpet
synonymous with the greats,
man-made Gods,
unable to walk on dirt.
her speckled nose
points in my direction,
looking quickly
i glance.
she shuffles on unfazed,
all the while
brushing past a metallic shelf
getting the shock
of her life.

speed stick

Absolutely astute,
this filthy, empowering scent
caresses my tired brows.
Waking me up in this
moment of insipidity.

when people laugh outside while it's snowing

Barren landscape
white, lifeless world
desolate earth.
No signs of life
only suddenly
the air is soon
pierced by the screams
of unruly,
frightening children
bearing snowballs.
The injured yell,
the fighting scream
but in the end,
hot chocolate.


Who would've imagined something so pure, so innocent,
be capable of this?
Loitering jumble of rumbling steel and rubber,
backed up as far as the eye can see.
Not moving, nor budging.
A wreck of twisted steel, crumpled like paper,
scatter the congested roads.
All this from a force of nature we haughtily consider so humble.

warm milk

I find the
a soothing
to the salience
of the populace -

uv rays

Brown grass, sauteed in the scorching sun,
wilting in this perilous nature.
Serves a purpose to to remind us;
too much is too much.


An ancient relic, harbinger of gloom.
Calling out for the insane, the inane.
Recoiling with every thought to be free
sending raptures through its every surface.
Upon its revival, in due course
it bellows on, unobstructed, still calling.

a step in mist

All in our due time,
will life reveal truth,
and truth reveal life.
Only then will the
lies unshroud itself
from the mysteries
of fog and soon be
an enlightened man.


There it stands, a vessel in its own right!
Holding the devoured, the silent, the entrails,
The hull embellished with ornate, spectacular grooves,
absolutely obstinate in its position it shall never fail.
Embedded within lie the fruits of labor,
thousands of islands dressed with vegetation galore.

coffee 9

The recognizable smell,
color dark as space,
taste accentuated with pure sugar cane.
Served in a mug so pristine,
delicious fresh brewed


Where are you going?
Through this calculating life.
Do you regret the paths not taken?
I do.
I wonder about how different
things would be.

pragmatism of the road

White line after line,
yellow sign after sign,
we are on the road again.
The same trees, over and over,
identical reflectors stand on the side.
We pass other cars in our make-believe game,
doubting our sanity, our integrity when we stop for a break.
Four hundred miles from home,
four hundred miles of the same,
of boredom.


O, ponderous polar bear,
why do you cover your nose so?
Your nose is just as black as your eyes,
complementing one another!
Are you embarrassed to show the penguins?
Gain knowledge, for penguins do not judge your color,
they fear your size, strength and sickly teeth.
Be proud of your nose, polar bear,
although it serves as a warning
to our waddling avian friends.

the remedy to my turbulent soul

A portrait of you,
beautiful visage
etched amongst the saints.

A true reflection
from the sacred lake
of Goddess Venus.

From the soil of Earth
you have been made new,
beauty unsurpassed,
body so divine,
a well endowed femme,
invoking envy
in Aphrodite.

As pure as Mary,
you stand amongst us,
truly a blessing!

penning of a cowboy

Riding swiftly on to flat, bleached plains,
rows and rows of lined ways to roam.
Deft strokes of wind wisely bloom;
Sharpened tools of the leaden foot,
leaving scorched imprints,
forever embedded in nature.
A mistake one hath made,
the scorched earth out of line.
The un-scorching of the white,
erasing of impurity.
Painstakingly undone, ready to ride.

you need a shower

Burning sensation in my nostrils
This terrible smell of the
unwashed gentleman.
Picking his hair, he shivers
The delight of reliving an itch
enough to bring goosebumps.
The unalluring yet spicy scent
numbs my nose
O, unwashed gentleman
please take a shower

paper ballet

As if in a hurry a piece of paper speedily crosses the street.
Dancing, twirling, as if performing a ballet it dances
gracefully turning away from the onset of cars,
it lands with both feet, a perfect ten
but it hurries on, its existence carried by the wind.


It's my fault not yours,
baby I love you so but,
you and I don't work.

get out

Unwelcome guests, uninvited
so thoughtless in their actions.
Oblivious to other thoughts
focused on themselves.
C'est le verite.

thrill is not the same as fear

"Embrace my bosoms,"
she motioned to me.
I creeped on closer
to examine her.
Cleavage in my face,
my heart sprang alight.
She took me in her
fearless, bold caress.
Disrobing, robing,
I take leave unsure.

no sleep

Sleepless nights go forever
entrenched in the eyes of demons,
always watching, whispering
unruly cacophony.
Nightfall brings temporal death,
remedial joy by morn.
The very whites of your eyes
imprecated with distress,
developing you insane.
Lackaday, for it is gone!
Morning dew, call of the dawn,
instead, you begin to fear,
the melody of the dark.
Rumble of darkness ensues,
Expending the eves and ewes,
here come the vixens of night,
to feast on your sudden fright.
With tantalizing banter,
they chant and howl for your name.
Without patience they begin
climbing up the sides of walls,
and crawling down ceiling halls.
They await for you to leave,
whilst lethargic music plays.
Fighting otiosity,
your mind quickly starts to race,
for you have just remembered,
a ten page paper is due.


not worth the while

As I went to go meet
at the agreed upon location,
I caught myself thinking

Scanning carefully among
rows and rows of the seated,
a flicker of movement catches
my eye.

I walk, closer than I have before,
perhaps violating unwritten laws.

She meets my gaze and asks,
"How is your day?"
My reply is one word.

Through the commotion and bustle
of the crowded room,
our eyes don't meet.
I feel sick.

My feelings for this girl
will never be justified.
We may have same aspirations
the same personality
to even think similar thoughts
but there is a code
rather unwritten.
you and I.

It's time for us to go,
we still haven't said a word.
A fleeting glance?

We get up to leave
one by one,
people leave the table.
It's our turn.
We depart
without goodbye.

coffee 4

Black and sugar please,
no I don't want cream.

If I did I would've specified.

This delicious beverage,
revered in its own right!

Soothes my otiose mind.


Stripped of warmth
thrust into this
malevolent, cold world
it begins its existence.

Never able to remember
days from before
covered in blood,
the baby is born.


Delivering life
the man in white plays.

Delicate flickers
of the dexterous hands
weave through the silk strings
that which govern life.

O, the joy he brings,
despair that follows.

Sorry, it's a boy,
expecting a girl?

twenty two

Bonding with the younger,
blossoming paramour.

Must we be so wrought up
at the sight of one another?

A taboo of society,
not recognized in our world.

My flesh longs for your touch
though my head knows wrong.

My heart belongs to you,
mon belle amonte

mirror ceiling

Looks like I live in a mirror
staring up at the ceiling
everything is the same.

Rows of fixed lights
as far as the eyes can see,
columns of fixed lights
as far as the eyes can reach.

The ceiling is only
accentuated by pillars
so magnificently imposing.

Authoritatively subduing
all thought.

Provoking me to wander,
picking up colorful books
bound with leather
and glue.

mindful lust

Perplexed as I am
thoughts of woman's mind
deceitful, complex
yet the desire of us men.

white collar

Steady drone of paper
fed into the printer
lights that aren't too bright
or too dim
cubicles assorted in
different colors
and here I sit

Pretending that
the world's okay
but it's not.

Pretending that
I'm important
but I'm not.

Just part of a microcosm
epitomizing the world.


What is this feeling?
Going home now, is it anxiety?
It must be remorse.

If not, is it guilt?
Misfortunes guide my path toward lifelong happiness.


Unfamiliar places, I've traveled so long
arduous and difficult it's been.

Becoming dark and dreary

the outside world falls

into its slumber,

with me to soon follow.

long journey ahead

Dark and perilous journey,
taking us afar to places already known.
Defiled tarmac, paint ridden walls,
enveloping medians keeping us alive.

haiku 4

Walking home alone,
I took a different path,
and then I got lost.

hands of a clock

It's the life of a day.
Twenty four hours, or
one thousand four hundred and forty minutes, or
eighty six thousand four hundred seconds.
Even so, a day only lasts for a day
until tomorrow comes,
bringing the mundane,
or the extraordinary.

No matter how you look at it,
a day only lasts for a day.

lone grazer

The lone pony grazes through fields of open grass.
Looking for a mate, it slowly wanders,
never able to find anything,
anything but the dying grass.

Unable to sustain life, the field barrens,
leaving him with no mate, no children, none.

None to carry out his meaningless life.

before you are placed in a coffin

death looms
every corner,
so i ask you
why be

if it comes,
it comes.

no use living
in fear
of something
that can
grab you in an


In congruence of this light,
your distorted face, unabashed
never more beautiful.

You gracefully walk,
leaving your prints behind.

An indicator of your living
as every living thing
leaves behind something
on this plane of existence.

just a mule

a world torn asunder
whitewashed powder.

someone decided to
the first shot.


the man with a key
and the iron box.
he keeps the cocaine in there.

too bad,
he's just a mule
they bought him for
fifty dollars. replaceable

it rises in the east

Far up in the sky,
its the bright circle
looking down at us,
usually beaming,
never questioning.


A moderately challenging task,
none yet which is to be spoken of.
Only when time permits.
The immediate opposition of time would be increased tenfolds,
disrupting the ever-so delicate strand of time,
destroying the warmth,
the goodness of what created this world.

It still goes on,
without cause,
without meaning,
without knowledge.

What spurs it so,
charging blindly into the fray?

haiku 3

Writing terribly,
waiting for inspiration,
only remedy.

i'm feeling good vibrations

Walking peacefully, breathing,
it feels good to be living.
As the wind blows through my hair,
it brushes my thoughts aside,
giving my mind new hope.

Even through this dreary day,
obstinate hope is given.

in contempt

O, contemptuous man,
you driving the blue Chevy,
glaring at me crossing the Genesee,
holding your head up aloof,
condescending spirit visible.

But surely faltering at home,
given tongue lashings by the mistress.

Drive on, find purpose,
but let go of that ego.


Relax, close your eyes.

Drift into slumber,
embrace the darkness.

The soft, dark lighting,
embrace the darkness.

Don't open your eyes,
I took your T.V.

homeless in grand central

Cut off from the world
of no plausible devising of ideas
with nothing of value
stranded here
of nobodies


Frequency of urination
the expecting of waste
shuddering as it flows
embodied heat now free.

Where does it go?


A plot of revenge
masked by patience
largely unnoticed
by the masses.

Revealing of wits
strained, stretched so thin
would be thought mad.

Wielding a knife
unsheathing it
burying it quick
beneath breathing
soft human flesh

haiku 1

Sitting here alone
Across me a homeless man
How I pity him

haiku 2

Totally benign
valiant city skyline
wickedly awesome


In the midst of the dark-stained hall
a blazing beacon of light
flashes with absolute certainty.
Imbued with seemingly infinitesimal powers
it gallantly leads the way,
unobstructed by the fear of the unknown ahead.


Ah, how the youthful play
in leaves of the playground.

A penchant for laughter,
others soon arriving
and to revel en masse.

Oh, exuberant youth
how I have forgotten.


You best not fall,
else you break your back.

Accumulating snow on the stairs.
Slippery when wet a sign should read.

To passersby who must be informed!

Best not slip and fall down the staircase,
painted gray with no safety in mind.

Freshly molding, dangerous fungi,

you best not fall
else you break your back.

excrement of social tensions

This gutted feeling at the pit of my stomach
I am completely unable to function
The pain, it sears my flesh from inside
Something I have felt before but not to this amount
This longing I so desire,
embellished with something vile
Expelling of indemnities, the excrement of society
All fuel for fire that burns within me

when life came to a stop

The city of sky scraping towers
once so glamorous and heinous
now turning sickly dull.

Rampant prostitution
lucrative drug trade had
ruled the early times,
though shut down, confined swift
by the revered men in blue.

The once artistic fervor
now all but dissipated.

No creativity flows,
not even in the sewers.

A series of forgettable events
none marked so impacting.


specters of a past life

Everytime I think of the past, bad memories arise
Feelings of shame and anger engulf me
leading me to relive it constantly
The torment from past ghosts haunt me so
but it awakens the senses within
lucky to have memories it dawns.

dog eat dog

Rows of wilting lamps
a metaphor for the loss
of morals.
Not human we live
eating one another,
capitalizing on mistakes
others have made.
Cheating ourselves
of fulfilling glory
yet still unattained
is knowledge.

day one

Thatched roofs of grey, black and brown,
oblivious to the warm, glowing, golden shine.

Inhabitants sleep on without a care,
no appreciation,
of living though another day.

dark times

Times of dark, a beacon shines
true brotherhood, friendship.
Alliances forged old and new,
through a desperate time.

Sweet smell of morning
brings another day
as the sun traverses the horizon.
A great horde stands still
beneath the crystal blue sky.
All clad black, leather armor
pauldrons of gray, speckled with red,
red from battles of before.

A horrendous roar, the war rampages
men mercilessly murdering men
kin pitted against one another
families torn by opposite sides.
Such a day should have never been.

Suddenly, silence surrounds the enraged,
an image of black and white etched forever.
A benign scene emerges,
the dead seemingly resting,
pools of red like spilled wine
all dead drunk, sleeping.

Shame befalls all witnesses
full of regret, remorse.
This war fought for none
only obstinate stupidity.
A woeful war, which no one won.


Writing in numbers,
I don't understand.

Speaking in silence,
I don't understand.

A day passes by,
in a blink of eyes,
I don't understand.

Why did you leave me,
so soon in this world,
I don't understand.


The infinite beyond,
overwhelming our imagination,
yet we think about it
more often than not.

In awe, yet not afraid
of mysterious within
and beyond our reach.

We ponder with great

what an indian once told me

Bustling city,
never-ending lights,
loud voices of cars.

Vestibules of man
bringing tragedy
to creatures of Earth.

A calamity.

Imploring nature
to stand up for good
the ancient ones pray.

To return to old,
be gone with the new!
Only to see dearth
as new towers rise.


Dainty children blossom,
living corporeal lives,
enamored with delight,
oblivious to sin.


I sit below an overhanging branch
and see an occupant already perched
ruffling its simple crimson feathers.
It begins to forecast dreary weather,
singing in gay tones.
Just so beautiful.

I awake to a covering of white fluff,
melting at my touch
with the absence of my red feathered friend,
who lulled me to sleep.

well, i found it

A love so tender,
soft, warm, and caring.

It's all we look for.
Is that a bad thing?

We all seek comfort,
relationships forged.

A significant
other, we all need.

To pass time alone,
to die by yourself,

is that your true life?
So blasted and cursed.

Nay, we all belong
with someone special

you just haven't found.

big city

From Lexington to 11th I walked
aching foot persisting constantly
without a destination, I walked.

Not realizing, I arrived
at the unmarked Terminal 5
I retraced my steps to 5th Ave
meeting countless faces
without a name.

Looking up at 30 Rock,
I sighed
A Dream, only in my dream.
Unrelenting, I walked on
trekking to 2nd Ave, lighthouse place
58th st, Starbucks.

Greeting people with my eyes,
some return my gaze,
others avert theirs

Such a big city,
such a lonely place.

if I had said no

I wear a shroud of white
standing before you all.
Silence erupts from all directions-
it's the loudest sound
I've ever heard.

I am led onto a pedestal
and is read my wrongs.
You jeer.

My palms are sweating,
moisture glistens off my face
my legs are about to give out.

"Death" you all shout.

I am shackled for all to see,
my piteous face
my shriveling body.

From behind me
a crackling of whip
and an immediate searing pain from my left shoulder.
Then my right.
The flaying of my back.

Wax is poured down my mutilated spine,
seeping into open wounds,
scalding me from within.
I weep.

Next, they bring out fire
and out comes an iron
glowing red and orange.
As it presses against my chest,
my skin begins to bubble,
and it begins to burn crispy black.
The letter 'X'
forever branded on me.

"Do you have anything to say?"
I can only meekly
shake my head.
"So be it."

I'm laid on shards
of broken glass
digging into
already open flesh.
They stomp
on my chest,
forcing glass into me.
I feel with every stomp
my ribs about to snap.
But they don't.

My arms and legs
are bound with rope
and tied to two horses.

They run.

As they gallop
I feel my arms
and my legs
Limb by limb
each are forced out
of its socket.
The pain is incredible.
My sinews and muscles
slowly tear and finally
with a final burst of energy
my right arm
and left
are torn away from my torso
drenching you, idle watchers
with my guilty, sinned blood.

I am dragged, armless,
my legs are still bound, useless.

"Are you dead?"
A stupid question.
I nod.
The slightest of sneers
crosses your face,
and with great reluctance
you grab my torso
yet my lungs still breathe air
and throw me
into open fire.

banality of notebooks

I feel like I don't belong
like a mouse in a family of cats.
I believe I lead a pre-scripted life,
my choices, actions all laid out before me.
My boring, uninteresting world,
I feel like I don't belong anywhere.

to oronooko

So blessed as he, Oroonoko.
Standing so tall, gallant and handsome,
only to be deceived by his own.
Taken prisoner, made a slave, a courtier.
Finding amour once more,
the only light of his years.

Beknownst to him, his love soon be taken.
O, such a cruel life he leads.
Sacrifice of his wife he suffers!
Disemboweled, dismembered, castrated,
he dies: a martyr.

lost love

In my dream-like state
a figure with your splendor and beauty
emerged from the fog of thought.

Holding hands we walked down
rows of memories I've had with you.
My long buried feelings burst from below
in the form of butterflies.

Perspiring, trembling
at the sight of you again
I sigh, for I know
this is a path long barred.

alone lyman

Eccentric Lyman smokes.

On red velvet he sits,
bellowing plumes of grey
from torpedo cigars,
chuckling at his own jokes,
although everyone knows
that this aging man has
naught a sense of humor.

His horn-rimmed glasses fell
'twixt his long haunting thighs.

Coughing, wheezing, he looks,
his gaunt face, disheveled.

Looking anguished, he chokes.
Remnants of his spittle
fly towards the dark sky,
unappealing, unloved.

Gone ever, forever.

this is what shrooms make you write

Walking about in this dirtied hall
I notice the green and dying.
Pestering ivy covered wall
obscuring my view of the dead.
Browning grass and tumbleweed fall
infinitely from the ceiling.
Reversing position it calls,
"It's totally unfeasible"
It tells me in a Southern drawl,
"Aye, fallin' grass 'n tumbleweed,
jus' fixed wit' dis wood'n dowel."
Walking backwards I stumble fast
out of this heinous world I crawl.