Sunday, October 25, 2009



Twenty somethings--
Twenty pictures:
That’s all I have.
Twenty days:
That’s all I have.
Twenty words:
That’s all I have.



Home? I can’t go there.
Not from here.
Away from home
I am again:
Again at home.

Sweaty eye release:
The welling in my heart:
The grass is green again.

Ripe life seeps through me
And steeps like some
Enlivening tea: emboldened.

Fresh chills consume me,
Hold me hostage:
Again at home.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

(still) At the Disco

At the Disco

Egoistic innocence entrapped by
The whimsies of some sisters fate.

Scylla and Charybdis wed in murky,
Gut-rotted, foot-trodden puddles.

Antithetical symbiosis feeding
Upon parasitic carnage.

Lavender dusk, lunar birth, helios
Spurning equinoxical height.

The egg

At The Disco

At the Disco

Pounding Lights—
Walnut hands…
Set me free!
Don’t touch.
Hands off.

I love me.

Celibate standoff
At high night noon.

Frantic, Frenzied, Forgotten
Let me be.

I love me.

Disintegrating bites.
Cold water douses
Drenched Flames.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Big Easy

Big Easy

Barging in through narrower than necessary ports
And bays, the locks fail to protect
The unprepared citizenry for the impending flood
Of indignities and revelations.

Corrupted by a sense of security—unjustified by
History and made subservient to nature—
Truths with which nobody is rightly equipped to deal
Destroy and wash away.

The swarthiness and inconsistent haughtiness
That informs a hollow chain
Commanded rightly from afar, uncommanded
Rightly from afar.

Rushing in on steel-clad barges, blown by fate,
By nature, by the very nature of
Destruction, the floods destroy and cleanse
The soul of decadence.

Monday, October 12, 2009



I’m nothing but an albino
Head cocked and cocking,
Scavenging for crumbs.

Proud as a peacock am
Though I forage beneath
Your feet and coo.

Sometimes I’ll gobble like a
To confuse the passers-by,
But don’t really fool them.

All the other pigeons hate me—
‘Cause they know I’m better
And sometimes pass for a dove.

Sunday, October 11, 2009



A table and four chairs,
Twenty legs together.
No ground, no reason, no logic,
Just legs: Just legs.

No soul, no heart, no head,
No arms to hold
No hands to touch.

Existent in the capacity
To hold that which
Can be touched, held;
Can touch, hold.

Twenty legs that promise
To hold the world
On their thighs.

Damn'd Selfs

Damn’d Selfs

Pushing up against the
Barriers of absolution,
The jagged razor scrapes.

Barren slivers, chards
Of splintered mirrors
Expose the thousand selfs.

And the selfs escape
Into primordial anonymity:
Into galactic ooze.

The wrinkled balsam—
embraced by callous arms—
Liberates absolute power.

And finally the dam gives way
And the deluge of fractured selfs
Converge upon the deaf horizon

And flood the thirsty plain.

Don't Go

Don’t Go

Yes, I’m miserable.
Come home.
It hasn’t even been
A normal day’s
Length yet
And I miss you
Ahead of time.

Yes, I’m miserable.
Come home.
You haven’t even arrived
At away yet
And I’m frustratedly
Awaiting your return.

Yes, I’m miserable.
Come home.



I’m walking in the footprints
I left the first time around
To escape the notice of the few
Who might have taken note.

The steps are deep and felt
And deeply felt.
They swallow my feet
Scrape my bared knees.

Acrimonious delight stands
Still and yet marches
On in its stillness.

My moccasins are worn
And for letting,
To a high bidder or low,
For a third trip around.

Read more of my poetry, essays, and stories at


As y'all may know, I have been writing poetry and short stories since my youth. When I started my grad work at UCF, it was with the intention of working toward developing and publishing my creative work. My studies have since taken me in a much more critical/theoretical direction and I have not been able to put the effort into developing my creative work as much.

Nonetheless, I feel like I have some great stuff to share with the people that are important in my life. I have actually compiled 6 books of poetry but have not pursued traditional publishing. Instead, I have decided to share my poetry with my closest friends and family. l am committing to sharing a special piece with each of you every Sunday, starting today.

While there is logic to the external compilations from which I am pulling these, you will find a randomness in how I present them here: irreverent, sappy, immature, critical. They also come from different times in my life, mostly starting around 1998, and often corresponding to life events, most notably Art, Ryan, Matthew, Steven, and Jason (ugh, how long does this list have to get?) Ultimately, I expect that these pieces are to be enjoyed as discrete word masses which will eventually present an as-yet undefined narrative unto itself.

Please Enjoy and check back often.