I can’t breast-stroke in the public swimming hole
They tread versos reflecting waves
So life like
But not actually breathing
If I watch them drown, am I an accomplice?
Cross my legs, denim clad legs
Perch on cushioned bench
They feign to my left
Head angled to fit the contour of my palm
Long drags of living room air
I say nothing to the
Wailing, pompous Trumans
This red is perfectly dry, like swallowing silk
A compliment to eager pad of finger
And to stalk a muse
Will it be the gnawing of genetically imbedded malformation?
Will it be the lack of loves satisfying endearment?
No, today honors the lives lost
In the 21st century
Swallowed alive
In a pseudo sea
I was there
I watched them drink the water
Great mouthfuls till they sunk
I sipped my Cab slowly
And wrote the obituary
They’d never read.


Stained Glass Windows

Brown feaux-leather chair, curled legs, laptop burned lap
big windows, daydream panes
how would it feel?
uncurled, yellow lines, deluged clothing,
rain pelted skin,
daydream panes…..

Red and white stained glass windows,
a bridge from microwave to sink
marching towards the recycling bin,
a bed of cardboard and forgotten intentions,
another day in air-conditioning
another night deciphering serotonin

Genetic mirrors,
forgiveness for the egg donor?
maternal epidemic passed through generations
denial and rehabilitation,
that unsymmetrical shrew,
…not quite yet,
another trip to the grocery store,
another nine dollar co-pay,
another window for the catholicon castle,
Consistency, which was never my forte,
now something I’m doing quite well with,
Conversations with my deceased father’s priests,
An expensive collection,
for a broke, auspicious footstep follower,
Genetic mirrors,
Another day through daydream panes,
another night through
red and white stained glass windows

7:30 on a Monday Morning

Wake up,
nose beneath his bottom lip
morning breath
Florida air conditioned bedroom
70 degrees
warm bodies, cool skin
his hand on my back,
warm bodies, cool skin
legs plaited
bright window, sun-kissed blanket
a moment before remembering
all the why’s
that anchor reality to us
before recalling who we have become,
I don’t remember yet,
just a few more minutes in solar history
make love,
Wake up, showers running
rushing, rushing,
coffee in the press
toothbrush to-go
find shoes
can you pick up the kid after school?
It’s time to,
remember, wake up.


We are calligraphy,
Gently swaying ink that lurches
into symbolism we must search
The script began with momentum,
It reads a tender, kinetic rhythm
backseat fingertip rituals,
The parchment now resembles an EKG
The leads from our chests to the broad tip brush,
Our synchronized duet is rife with arrhythmia
Withal, ink continues to bloom on the scroll,
Fonts and typography morph, Languages shift
The amaranthine stroke curves, swoops, crescendos, and flourishes
visual history,
always creating,
We are art,

Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus.
Ad astra per aspera.

Happy second anniversary, my love.

P.S. Google translate doesn’t do a good job with the above latin, so here is the translation:

“Love is rich with both honey and venom.
Through hardships to the stars.”


I resolve nothing new
but to afford the allowance of imperfections
and that is only slightly new,
but not quite old news for this new year.

Nesting for the two I’d failed, I felt them growing every day,
my joys were acute shooting pains
I learned thoroughly dimensions and the explicit need to blend them
Mostly the desperation in my desire to bend into them
I eventually saw us all to the best I could do
I wavered like a flag and held the victim torch once more
and per the norm, I stretched my robes and allowed them to burn
Then there was unexplained growth, unexplained as to why the spurt took so long to arrive
Though, I will always feel like emptying two lungs-full of profanity into some place pure
glasses filled with celebratory champagne, set aside graciously,
for the pain relievers that ate a hole through my stomach lining in 2013
I’ll make a toast anyway, probably to Zantac and Aleve
and of course to progress
and maybe stop wondering what it would taste like if I had the anatomy for gateway slings
the vegetation that obscures the rocky and foreboding landscape into a king sized bed
truth be told, I like feeling too much to remove the lenses.
Manually I bring in crisp and sharp the ledges and cliffs
So clear the images threaten the cornea.
So often missed are the soft palettes hidden in the scruff
And I do so enjoy finding Waldo and berry stained paint brushes

I see above and through
I feel the love I’m falling into,
and away from.
I dreamt of a tornado
and a ring
White gold destruction that loops with out an end
A Beatles song stuck on a lyric, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on, on and on
Bomb shelters and 2014 dissolving on the tip of my tongue already
No resolutions. My affair is with evolution.
I am not a time-keeper nor a mathematician.
I am simply, living.

I pledge to eat more bananas and to sing.
To disembowel myself less, and heal my gut
To be passionate even in the shadows because the contrast is beautiful
To caress the stretch marks that are my only tattoos
To look into peoples eyes even though it makes me twitch
To care more about the things I was taught I shouldn’t
and less about the things that become sanities tape worms
To be comfortable and invite my torments in for tea
To hold a happy moment and know what it means
To feel my pain and let go of it when it is ready,
To recognize when I am ready.
None of these are resolutions, only evidences that I am evolving.

Don’t be offended that I will not wish you happy new year. I wish you vision; to witness those specks we normally dismiss. I wish you the ability to decode the messages in your pain. I wish you discovery, passion and appreciation. But mostly, sight and evolution. The first you must find on your own, the latter is inevitable. None of this is new. None of this has anything to do with a year.

Dear Sweet Pea,

Freshly showered,
My offering was a fortune
Now I’m a wilting pauper,
Another Ophrys Fly sonnet
Just borrowing against tomorrow
(please pan out)

Winehouse bellows behind
Eyes on the north star
valued by those with sight
and a dark, quiet plot

Getting wasted in city lights, smog, and
Row after row of globe amaranth ghosts
My greenhouse mausoleum without a view

upper and lower lash bouquet
a seatbelt
a safety blanket
all that god damned squeezing

and a skull full of shiny gold
minted in Kalopsia.

There was a moment.
A fleshy, numinous moment.
Honeysuckle and Anemone

Signed with freeze dried petals,
Amaryllis Kingsspear



potato parade
boiled, mashed
daily soporose cocktails
Modified for easy livin’
in that invisible suburb
simulating connection
We are doin’ alright,
but we don’t feel fine, fine, fine



airborne dopamine
infiltration, combustion
Anarchy in the veins,
metanoia by-products
sediment lifting up, up, and

Half baked sillage
an angry contamination
in the bowl of instant, buttery mashed
Your sprouts are showing!


particles in the cornea
memorabilia drifting over the iris