Sunday, August 20, 2017


For three months, at least
there has been a black economy
mailbox, mounting bracket and post
taped inside a cardboard box standing
in my unlived in living room.

Today is the day.

Saturday, August 19, 2017

A Message

She told me I'd never really get over it
Twin flames
Fate, in the other's words
You'll run to the other side of the universe
And I'll wait, staked to this spot,
Focused on not chewing my leg off

Someone make me a soundtrack with
Elements of morose and
A driving beat that I can march to
Give me resolve and my suffering
Purpose that I can hear and feel
Both gritty and ethereal

All at once, tragic and
triumphant, suicidally depressed
and manically transcendent.
Let it drive me out to where
I can smell the coursing of my blood
And see with sharper eyes

This is our song,
whether or not

Friday, August 18, 2017


I had the habit
of looking for your car
in my driveway and
the physical sensation of
a nightly let down upon not
seeing it there. I noticed the
night before last that I don't do
that anymore.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Strife, She Said

But without strife
There's no reason to write

I woke this morning
After good sleep
Most of my thoughts were pleasant
Except for a lingering crazy dream
Which spoke to neglected familial
Relations, psychedelic music and

Tuesday, August 15, 2017


The dog with its single note
mechanical bark sounds different
this morning.

There's pain in it,
and its nails on the floor
sound like anxiety.

These sounds reveal the fact
that we don't know what to say
beyond cursing at one another.

Monday, August 14, 2017

Rather Than Backward

Waking up and looking forward
to the work week,
to things requiring follow up and resolution,
maybe even to things I'd like to do.

This is new.

Friday, August 11, 2017


Try to slow the kid down
He tells you he's got no intention of stopping
Only came here because he needed a place to stay
And now he's conned his Dad into wiring 40 bucks.

He's got a long way to travel, back to his dealers
The game he knows, and he's got to walk three miles of
Heroin and crack to get to the train station.
Everything here is wired to kill you.

Why don't you charge your phone here?
You'll need it. Hang out. Eat some dinner with us.
Wash your clothes. Take your time.
Why not crash here? You can go in the morning.

He knows it's a stupid thing to do
Knows his tolerance is down
Knows his usual 5 grams a day will likely end him
He knows but he goes

Salivating, eyes fixed on the distance
Every second he's closer
To shutting down what's trying to
Swallow him now

He called this morning.
Still alive
Made a detox in the city late last night.
He calls leaving the stupidest and smartest thing he's ever done

Wants to know if he can come back
After detoxing through the weekend.
Yes, is the answer.
While you still have life, yes.