Monday, May 13, 2019


forging strange statements at uncomfortable hours
the typical time for drunken poetics

the purity of this kind of poverty
this kind of integrity
this kind of nuisance

destroying a texture
diseasing a mind
worrying out worm holes
crushing chasms

there are woolen patches where flesh was
they work their way to a core
they make their way through arterial passages
into a more profound and pounded kind of pavement
the stiff seriousness of a stone that keeps peeling back like onions

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

dull knives

there aren't many "no's"
        and who the hell knows the best way to share a heart.

how to explore the ugly ridges that line the drawers
        the crumbs accumulated
        the residue of too many spilt drinks
        late nights
        a burn or two.

who's the guide? who has the power?
       at what hour do I bend on knee to consult the demigod
       the oracle
       the magician
       who stirs up primitive and necessary chaos as a harbinger of healing.

no one knows
     they're flailing too.
     they've moved homes
     are moving within the Self.

they're scraping back old wallpaper
     using dull knives


Wednesday, April 10, 2019


bury my face in the desert
the rigid push back of denim.
black and born of Jupiter.
in it I find the smell of home
unlikely, unexpected.

the sweet lips of conspiracy
meet easily and are a part
as I feel my ribs in four dimensions.
as I find my thighs in the thickness.
strokes of internal grabbing
the raw scratch against my back.

a tawdry tarantula lives in my bloodtype.
strong and misleading
a truthful bitch
who pushes me off planets
and teases
frequently suggesting that I don't know how.

the firming age of a saguaro
sneaks into my vulnerable ground.

what a tiny root, an immature possibility.
what comes of this wildness?

some new found embodiment or a life?
lessons all the while the creosote is knocking at my nostrils.
inducing, attracting fear-laced allergic reactions.

buried under too much is a small light.
here is rounded out a den.
here sleeps a stone that once beat blood.
here, an opening.
here, this is
here, what is.

Thursday, April 4, 2019


clarified by fire
such a precise prism
pointing to purpose and unforgiving realism

like lightning
smashing the ground
smacking its womenfolk into change

a collective war call
of all the women hurt by men
of all the minds drawn into madness and mindlessness

there's a burgundy burping
a stewing slurp, a velvet thing

a heart
strung up like yesterday's laundry 

Wednesday, November 21, 2018


i live with loss.
i love with skeletons. future ghosts.
untethered ones. who find wormholes in between bouts of communication. fits of furrowed fantasies.

i live in the credited time. the one I pay back - not them - I.
after their scent is stronger than their Self.

i live with legends. who haunt the hallways of my memory. make more space than is healthy. 
carve into the woodgrain - their initials - then "haha".

i love with bones. no meat remains. nor mumbles anymore.
just wind blown in by the dashing of bodies. the retreating of healing.
i live with ghosts. 

Monday, November 19, 2018

the un-knowing

the superficial bolster
the way I feel okay today
having been urged to open up
to trust
to believe

if i could have told me

operating from a cloudy heart
the one that doesn't pull apart fear from weird
boundary from neared love

he asked me to believe
to take leave of suspicion
to retire my intuition that he was ill-equipped to see into fruition a real loving thing

how to remain
how to entertain the universe when it brings tricks
when it treats your heart like a piece of meat
how i can't even beat my brain into getting it

and release

surrender into the unknowing
let the un-showing of me proceed
let the growing of me precede
let the un-knowing just be

Monday, September 3, 2018

"Toes"    2015

"Maize"    2016

"Temple 1"    2017

"Temple 2"    2017 


2 devils on my side reaching up
a wind pushing through their tan

bringing forth that misery/those fucking memories
-nothing is too pure-

the storm whips
sucking sobriety from the air

a moaning monsoon
so let's crash into strips/pray into it's drips

a human attempt
violet grays/atmospheric display of violence and surrender

i had, i have, i have never, i will never
be more than this
-so forgive this intrusion and allow me to move in-

Excerpt from "Discovery of Life"

What a short time I have lived! My birth is so recent, there is no unit of measure to count my age. I have just been born! I have not even lived yet! Gentlemen: I am so tiny, the day hardly fits inside me.

~César Vallejo

in between

i am icebergs
melting in catastrophic collections
crashing to a hundred humbled selves
then melting
to the bottom of a foreign philosophy
a frigid water

       i know rivers
             i am rivers.

the euphoria of euphemisms is escaping through the windows
with the blinding heat
swelling in sultry truths
digging in and bleeding
         bleed for it.

one hundred ten degrees
three hundred sixty moments
pushed through the earth
prominent and purposeful staring you in the eye
"i am here, how about you?"

where do you exist?
how hard have you pushed your low-lying levels
in the light?
when have you ever struggled
to birth a mountain?