Clik here to view.
Clik here to view.
A Little Essay While Running Away From The Trashed Psyche
I don’t suffer from the brilliant people’s writer’s block. I get these swarms of self-hatred that swamp me and create an inactive Tonka toy, ready to rust and to be kicked. Kicked so there are dents...
View ArticleClik here to view.
On A Day When People Blur By Without Me
I say ghosts, but the spectators parade by in quick and evil flourishes and flashes with primary colors and terse hearts, perhaps haters, but the term rips at my soul because there are not any haters....
View ArticleClik here to view.
On a Day When My Dismal Spirit Falls Behind
Even light and heat flow gently when my bones are not finding resistance, as the dogs clue me in on priorities, showing me how to fight for a niceness of spirit, and I want the thrill of this journey...
View ArticleClik here to view.
Willingness – Part VIII
The heavy, wet, navy blanket was tilting my skull, left and right, but not back, and sometimes forward into a bowl, a chintzy cereal, bluffed with crunched sugar, smearing my eyes, my coffee slathering...
View ArticleClik here to view.
The Red Pants Tightened My Heart
There was a lady with immaculate black ponytail. I eagerly looked but not one hair was disarranged. And not simply the ponytail. It was this soft, slick, shiny, furry, perfect, oval jewel on her...
View ArticleClik here to view.
Demanding Music
Demanding music is my fuel. Right now. Look at the orange bag, the dirty beard, the cigarette disintegrating the human, the white shirt with loud wrinkles, blocked by the angry truck. Listen to that...
View ArticleClik here to view.
Right-Sizing Traps
I immerse a gray, nearly-dead mind in a spiritual reading, searching for, longing to create a space of goodness in my soul, which itself seems to drip a blue fungal trail, spitting like a baby’s room...
View ArticleClik here to view.
Revolutions – This Isn’t a Poem, but I Don’t Write Fucking Essays
Here today, things started to change dramatically. Do you know, when I just said that, I knew it was false, but it’s hope, so fuck ’em. So for a few minutes, I thought, I might be a writer. To me, that...
View ArticleClik here to view.
The Unshakable Infantile Spirit, Part III
I’m good with being a baby now, at the core. I confess. People don’t believe me. They reject baby me with nervous laughs. They can’t see the core. Today, meditation made me okay. Good baby, peaceful...
View ArticleClik here to view.
Right-Sizing Traps
I immerse a gray, nearly-dead mind in a spiritual reading, searching for, longing to create a space of goodness in my soul, which itself seems to drip a blue fungal trail, spitting like a baby’s room...
View ArticleClik here to view.
The Unshakable Infantile Spirit, Part III
I’m good with being a baby now, at the core. I confess. People don’t believe me. They reject baby me with nervous laughs. They can’t see the core. Today, meditation made me okay. Good baby, peaceful...
View ArticleClik here to view.
On Tuesday, Meditation Did Big Things to Me
Some days, I’m healed, craving deep, frozen time, holding this now, wishing for old friends, but they’re gone, so I sit. . Filed under: Poems
View Article
