I am an addict

an addict who

never takes too much

nevertheless I am addicted

in ways that are unproven or run

thin white scars shiny and tight

like crossed legs try not to uncross

I am addicted to you

I am addicted to the feeling

of being high

it’s easy when you feel like you’re dying

to reach for a bottle, a pipe, a rolled paper, anything

to take away the crime

of hurting without cause

or so it appears

to the callous world who say

get a grip for fucks sake

you are pathetic

oh yes you feel you are

lying beneath them after swallowing too much

of their blow back

see, we’re two different species

the addict and the non addicted

the latter wake up and see

they are not nailed to a cross

their fingers are not blistered and torn

rent by iron and blood

stretching in the morning sun

going for a jog

balance over balance over balance

supple minds malleable bodies

for the addict who plunges

into abyss there is nothing powerful enough to resist


take a pin stab yourself

if it helps do it again

take a person cut your neck

if it helps do it again

take a lover, slice them in two

keep the half that won’t leave you

the addict only knows how to chase

the feeling of relief

blinded by the agony

of seeing

themselves without skin



don’t you think

should come with a disclaimer

do not read as literal

wash on gentle cycle no spin

use bleach sparingly or often

depending upon situation

leave to dry outdoors

don’t put in the tumbler on hot

iron gently or not


I like my coffee black and mornings silent

but for the licorice dogs bark at fleeing squirrel

or jackdaw hammering out his concert

and when the day draws to a close

I like my light diffused and close

leaving darkness to itself

and all the wanderings the mind shall make

haunting this house in repose

to read of worlds you’ll never go

for travel is not as it used to be

stripping shoes and facing x-ray’s indignity

nor indeed our imagined futures it seems

requiring new needles to play favorite song


they say as you age your circle reduces

with regret behind those words

I have no regret of this, life is like a purse

pulled together by string to keep it taut

once filled with coins of many colors

gradually emptying its burden

I find the reduction a balm

within less there is more

time to consider and become still

further into the briar and gallop

you’re never lost if you’re seeking

you’re never found if you don’t let

a hand pluck you from the notion

you’re alone


she turns her warmth across my own

we hold on tightly as we head toward our door

the last to open

the last to close

she is me I am her

we may not be here tomorrow

but still the silver lines of existence shine

like exclamations in claiming dew

drenching our run further

toward the echo of our beginning

The story of us


I confess

it was the love of you

gave me breath

wound around middle finger

flax and straw

plucked from those nearest to sky

a pinch of light

holding lantern against sheltered corners

of myself not recognized

you were dressed in color and feeling

bequeathing underfoot a trail

of sound and touch

caught in memory

your pulse pressed against

my own frigid skin

repelling life so long … forgetful of how

to shed her jade for opacity

when it is too much I reach for

the song of you playing within my hollows

like a scoop of earth will

leave room for planting

you scatter your faith

rows of hope

to take root and turn my emptiness

lavender and mustard

fields stretching out

One glory two uses

anoint this paradox

defying gray

I see a figure in the distance

running to catch up with you

clasping hands they

take off their shoes

soft is the ground beneath their


it is my darling

the story of


The shivering of sound


took my hand

gentle the lash of sorrow

hung so long by peg

from back of door

becoming cloak

before long, unable to discern color

this monochrome grief bird

pecking holes in resolve

walk a mile in anyone’s shoes

feel their ache dye the price

the shivering of sound

bricks cast in tears

yellow is today

the door stands open

what of it?

outside first oleander fall

petals mixed with grass

studying full sky

swollen in accumulation

as we smile unbidden

collapsing our pinned ideals

inside our skirts

as we hike them higher

to avoid water mark

déjà vécu

793d6b43ec2993ccb696f4d407287ee3We stood in the early morning silence, two warm silhouettes

waiting is the hardest when goodbye comes afterward

my bag a leaden brick in my throat

I thought of all the times you let me down

trying to reject the pain with supplanted anger

I could only miss you more before I was gone

the sting taught me the truth of us

these ties binding us over time and water

they never did listen to reason or sense

age, advice or security

we collapsed at the same time, head first into a river

carried along unable to climb out and dry off

why is it so easy to shrug some people?

forget and move away propelled by current

and others

command the underwater tow

they cling even as we fight without knowing why

wrapping around us in familiarity

sooner felt than can be sensible


more than familiar, you and I

beginning before consciousness

forming pre-determining chain links

recollecting pathways as you would

your own nature

did you create me out of your mind?

am I your child? your chimera?

at times it seems I do not exist until you

open your eyes and bid me morning

you, safron firebird in sky whilst I

hold up my crooked elbows and inspect

where you join and where I end

unable to fathom epileptic from phenomena

some of us are born with internal scripts

already printed and stored in clay

some of us are born with destinies tattooed in

the crook of our arm

a map of sorts

to each other

whichever way we take

make sure it is the way toward prophecy

where in hypnagogic trance our memories

form prior to birth

is it real? is it illusion? A play on words?

all is subjective painted into our make

with fine horse hair brush


our hearts are not master

the brain distributes sensation with

seeming spontaneity but all is drawn before

held in the minds of gods planting forests

they chose us to find the other

before we knew to seek

coming from inside out

who existed first? you or me?

without you I simply ache and ever longing reach

you are my pulse

threading rhythmically beneath

recognizing two who are one

reconstructing fate

whatever happens

however far we are led in wrong directions

as stars lick magnetically

we always return

no matter consequence

to be apart, always worse

than anything humans can create


we began when the universe

exploding in one enormous sigh

split itself into infinitum

gauging space and time where

before only emptiness knew

to be alone

that is what it feels like to

go one day, one hour, without

your arm to reach for and remind myself

the luster of your fur

soft and thick beneath the world

carpets me safe

so long as you stay close

within a single







I am so thirsty I could drink the sea

and make of leftover salt a tower of Babel

resting like a dove tail wand in white dunes

where any emotion is read immediately

as a blush on landscape otherwise mute

so when your cheeks turn red and you tilt

your head away from me hot faced

I want to fill the sky with released birds

gathering in blue to lift you back

do not stray long in your daydream

where, closed off in thought you could

be climbing mountains not really here at all

we motion and hymn

our circadian rhythms plaiting

time together and apart

once I knew you as my familiar

we daubed each other with mirrored pieces

with change came a drift

building beneath sand filled doorways

harder to open

you took flight and I

stared up into marbled sky

almost blind by solvent light

until you were a pin prick

of silver glinting against

my squint

like an ache within

will pierce and


with fearless





thThe things we hide on the inside

become necklaces

of gilded ears

sharpened by arrow heads

daring to leave the shingle

for swollen mouths of water

big and discolored

the sound of anvils

aching to strike

If I could I would

reach into decoupage

pull out damp envelope 

with large words and self corrected emotions

cutting through paper made of souls

read your varnished secrets

let them roam

beyond lacquered confine

of what is safe and secure

until they pulp our learn

split, break and reawaken

even without wings, chewing ourselves new

we can glide on thin papier-mâché tips

glimmering in linseed oil, to Kashmir and back

if we believe