Sunday, May 1, 2016

satellites crashing

they've watched us enough
something had to give
maybe they got tired of floating
and just wanted to not live

slowly caressing the stratosphere
shy, like a mechanical bridal affair
feeling hotter as they enter
digging deeper as if they don't care

leaving skin, bones and screws in the sky
falling falling falling ready to die
but then the air becomes somewhat breathable
and hope rears its hood on intertwined cables

satellites crashing in wide nets made of steel
no one cares what they think or feel
trapped to be repaired, ignorant of their pain
till they're ready to be shot in the sky again

They watch us, and it's ironic that this poem will go through at least some satellites to reach you.

Saturday, April 30, 2016

chinese torture

in my bed
staring at the ceiling
there is a crack, like a thunderbolt
and some of the plaster is peeling
a stray drop
makes it way through
just hanging by a feeling
it races across the ceiling
becoming one with the crack
till it's right on top of me
it hangs there
like suspense of a mid-season episode
like a relationship at the brink of something
teeter-totter like a patient at the edge of coma
it drops
oh how it drops
right in the middle of my forehead
as i lie still
and watch more drops
make their way to
torture me
why can't i move?
why am i stuck in this bed?
tied with silly string
why do i think about these things?

Thursday, April 28, 2016

how to kill a man

this is not a manual
or an instructable
this is just a page
filled with the vomit of thoughts
that rise like dead bodies
left in the water for too long
all bloated and ugly
staring at you
with dead eyes filled with
a challenge
Are you going to write this fucking thing, boy?
you can't kill a man with bullets or knives or nooses or pillows
you just kill a body
you kill a man slow
with the drudgery of every day existence
piled on him brick by fucking brick
till the man can't move at all
burdened and weak
do you slit his throat then?
maybe offer a mercy exit?
you pile some more bricks on him
steal some more molecules of hope
that's the magic of every day
you really can do anything
if you're patient enough
and you enjoy watching others suffering
it's like cooking a dish
or drawing a drawing
bring the water to boil
each stroke a pin prick
it really is a long con
believe me
for i can see myself
dying under the bricks
in another ten years or so
maybe i'll come back and read this poem
maybe i won't remember to

Saturday, April 23, 2016


there is a crawlspace
right here
in my chest
no blood
just cobwebs
even the spiders
have left this place
just dirt and memories
fill this space
sometimes i hear
a ticking sound in this void
i ignore it
as you do
as i've done
for all these years
it ticks louder now
the sum of my fears
maybe i need a bomb squad
to crawl into this darkness
and figure out why
the sky is a mess
cut the wire
red or blue
save me from the truth
#4, so it goes.

Thursday, April 21, 2016

the stars suffer tonight

staring in the darkness
till my eyes start to ring
even if the sky is a mess
i like to think that the stars still sing
even harsh melodies
of screams and horrible curses
rhymes broken, corrupted beyond redemption
this is no city for beautiful verses
a chaotic, unholy litany
runs like a crack
through the fabric of reality
the world collapses
the world expands
wrapped around the sound
of a sigh
through the wormholes
timelines converge
at the speed of light
tachyons race
and on some cold night
maybe i'll silently touch your face
and through the chaos of a dying world
i'll have my one moment of peace

Monday, April 18, 2016


From the door of room ajar
A candle flickers on a jar
Filled to the brim with swimming eyes
That seer through truths and the lies

These eyes from the back of heads
Eyes from palms of hands
Even the eye of the purple beast
A third eye, open, looking east

In the jar, the memories ocular
All that's seen, all that's been
From Odin to Fury to sins molecular
Bionic memories, unfinished stories

The eye of the storm floats unseen
Flitting like pixels across a screen
And the eye of the needle floating in rage
Chemical death on a dead page

The candle's going
And I can't see
If all those eyes
Still look at me

3 is an important number.

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

A break from regular programming....

I've written a fiction ebook. It's called Jungle. It's available for download on kindle.

And it's free for two days only! Today and tomorrow. The clock is ticking, it'll never be free after this. Ever.

This is the link

Check it out.

You can read more about it on the main blog