Grace and Tempests

Something in this requiem of storms Seems more than eloquent, The priceless words of petulant Moments spoken over paltry Days in graceless hope For more to come. Bring me tempest subtleties Whose sweetness leaves in raindrops Altruistic portraits painted In the ache that sings me numb. – #Seward #Alaska Advertisements

Not me

i’m not the one they think i am. i’m often much too lost And far too small to be But someone futile Stuck unending in a Carbon-copied plan to measure up, A mess of patched-up remnants And of past regrets repeated In some hackneyed phrase. i’m platitudes and work days. A philistine, and preaching Faith […]

Wounded one

Let me be the wounded one To bleed for you when blood is gone, When scars are vain and all The thousand things I’ve done, They seep like worthless pearls, These fetid strings of better days To end in urbane rose blooms’ Viscous streams and coat the pain, Coat the pain in current news Of […]


This time I’ll take harbor in the barrel-black charges, in the messy forewarnings forming harmonies of beaten blue advice to pepper these already seasoned wounds in red. This time, when the shots are trained, expect I’ve learned my lesson, and I’ll prove it by a want for words when finally the peals fall soft, so […]


Today, my name is bedlam, and I etch its letters aimlessly upon these calmest hues of sunset, the place where rust horizons lose their voices and resign to bruise-blue depths before they pass. Tomorrow, I’ll be violence in the dew that pearls on flower blooms to counterfeit a morning for the capsized glimpse of order […]

Clockwork garden

I set a clockwork garden from the sins we saved away, from symptoms of the prayer we buried deeply in a quiet place with confidence the stony soil would hold. Today it fruits with vitrified reflections as its vines meander jade throughout the pickets painted white so long ago, betraying the perfection in its stannic […]

Walnut shell

I hollowed out the walnut trees. I stripped away their leaves. I left the shells beneath them with the smell of mud and atrophy. And somewhere there’s a fire cutting loose these lisles of smoke that rest in evanescent trails and sink, the clement stock of wood that wasn’t mine and wasn’t ready threading piquant […]