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the following is too much of too little. * write it write it write the poem that includes everyone including you there sitting sloppily looking at them flipped precipitating pages of night and remaining unseen unread unknown like a lost thing * no one reads and all remains right for there is little wrong with … Continue reading
you have come despite a life that often doesn’t to try to find meaning or a break or a laugh you deserve and i want to give it to you with the beauty of now which is then which is which and the always confusing magic of attempting to know a really that’s already gone … Continue reading
in a time where there feels like there is no time literature is peace even if it is rifling on about wars and showing that the tragedies that have come to the monkey business of the present swung before right into the stomach spitting out slippery words that need to be reinterpreted by the greatest … Continue reading
i see that the world would be made better if we crossed i’s but didn’t cross me * it is a shame that as children we feel no shame in reading to get lost while as adults we read to lose loss * i am a friend of a revolutionary who stole a car without … Continue reading
it is a pain not feeling much of anything but still not being still and without the pain of it is * i would tell you my opinion about politics but i’m told that this wouldn’t be very political * i am looking for the line that makes me stop looking and finally looks back … Continue reading
this much i know is true: there are no truths and i know much of nothing * there is no such thing as good poetry only poetry in good things like when you are standing in a forest with the mist of a waterfall whispering your way towards an escape from a summer’s day that … Continue reading
reading is never alone for writing is always a loan * books like birds perched on warm shelves waiting for food for thought and more original truths that fly away but are hunted captured then wait around in a cage for nothing more than to be let back in the comfort of black margins * … Continue reading
coughing is the only time you’ll recognize your breath so suffocate live in gaps and die each day only to begin again for no other reason because you were born drooling and learning how to use those lungs to stop drooling in sputters * leave some of me left after you have finished with me … Continue reading
The following was a bad poem written while reading bad poetry. * Who are the books the readers or writers; who controls which the text seems mightier even when blank or pressed and bound left alone to rot where imagination compounds but this is folly: interpretation dominates for the writer dies while the … Continue reading
The following says nothing at all, and so too does this. * Writing a wrong September 20 2012, Published in the Silhouette It’s Saturday night again. Sun-kissed blonde hair sprinkles in front of your face as you sip the cold coffee on your desk. Your eyes hurt but you cannot rub them. Not now. Not … Continue reading
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