Friday, June 15, 2018


Machines junk poetry
Scattered in the rain
The wires in your head now
Don't cause any pain 
Your rhyme schemes
Your time dreams
Drenched in old sweat
Recoil in horror at Father Time's breath
Random moments in a bubble
Atmosphere thick with trouble 
Hands of a clock tick tocking away
On the edge of wakefulness
Teeter totter sway
Gathering the words
Throw them in a bag
Stirring couldren of poems
A wicked old hag
And it's me
Always me. 

Tuesday, June 12, 2018

night and other perils

the sky is an open wound
festering with poison fumes 
they rise up in pillars of black
color the clouds in grey plumes

everything once alive
has withered and given up
the angels once proud
are sleeping in the muck

night is the final nail
in the coffin of humanity
exhumed, inhuman
it covers the sun

and in the darkness in the doom
the dreamers dream with eyes open
waiting for the stars
that have given up on us, too.
it's that kind of day, month, year. 

Tuesday, May 29, 2018


the stillness at the bottom of the sea
the silence at the bottom of a bottle
half my dreams i dream of drowning
others, twisting on a throttle

it seems like i am gnawing at my own foot
sabotaging my own ship
shooting bullets in the hull
while I'm far out to sea

will the fish eat my bones?
when I am done and gone?
will crabs hide in my skull?
and peek through my eyes?

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

The Nail

For the Want of the Nail
The Kingdom Was Lost.


absent kings
dreams undreamed
the poison on their tongues
now lives in the lungs
the world around them rots
cities burn and fall
the sky is color of ash
on the ground humans crawl
a new plague has found our bones
and sleep is a lost cause
the screams are loud and shrill
the nightmares never pause
the final nail is struck
deep into the wood
the violent world is silent
just as it should

i need to get back into this.

Thursday, April 12, 2018

The Hammer - 2

ever tick is a hammer
hammering the nails
into the lid of the coffin where
i've put my skeletons to rest

there won't be a second coming
the dead won't rise from the ground
it's all worm buffet in the end
and the worms don't make any sound

but the tick and tock is louder still
heartbeats of a monster machine
it chips away the days and months
it crawls into my dreams

one day my bones will rust
into a powder white and black
and wind will spread the memories
till the ground cracks

Monday, March 19, 2018


if it's not smoke blood and fire
could it be the end
if it's not dead disappointment and desire
could we still pretend

there is a perverse joy in
trying to wipe the slate clean
but the words bubble up from the bottom
ignoring everything we have seen

it sucks you down under
degrees of disjointed miasmic pain
the disinterest the conversations
spoken by deaf tongues

so the words are strewn
in gardens like the leaves
that come home after hurricanes
to be trodden under feet again
right swipe: madness

Sunday, March 18, 2018


a face torn from the bones
bones torn from flesh
a soul torn from the body
a body torn from a city

everything was given for granted
everything was so taken
when the sundering blade fell
all promises were forsaken

now the pain is a joke
that comes without a punchline
keep bleeding from the teeth
spitting blood, but it's fine

tear open another scab
what's the fun in healing
at least the wounds have a purpose
they give words to the feelings

gonna run this theme into the ground.