activism art astronomy behavior belief cemeteries destruction ecology epidemeology humanity journalism life mindfulness mythology nightmares pandemics poetry politics pop culture punk science writing shooting stars technology travel writing writing

Does this look infected?

who knew

the 6th mass extinction

on the planet

would be set into motion

not by a furious comet

instead thrown into chaos

by an insidious cloud

of misinformation

(que piano music)

art belief cemeteries childhood Christmas chronology comfort dance death divinity fucking funerals happiness humanity life love poetry religion science science writing self-care shooting stars travel writing writing

travel writing

what we call eternity lasts

approximately 3 seconds

it is the state of a happy heart

at the moment of your death

as your brain powers down

the last thing it processes are images of

everything you ever loved


that is our shared heaven


So, your president is a seditious cult leader…

Trump is their Manson.

The traitors who desecrated the Capitol building are Tex Watkins and the Manson family.

Democracy is their Sharon Tate.

activism addiction affectation Americana art atheism baseball writing behavior belief cemeteries chronology civility divinity festivities fucking funerals geneology government government and a lack thereof happiness Hell history human behavior iconography insects Jazz kindness Lent literature local color love poetry medicine mourning nature nightmares non-fiction pandemics poetry politics pop culture psychology punk puppies religion Uncategorized



will sell you

candy cigarettes,


Camel Wides,



nicotine patches,

life insurance,

and a bronze casket


in one lifetime.

Americana Art cemeteries childhood comfort death divinity family festivities history humanity mourning muse nature poetry pop culture punk Southern Gothic

such willful animals

in death

our ribs remain skyward

like hands

cast to heaven

in prayer


Are you free?

meet me in Tompkins Square

the Temperance Fountain

at noon

March 2, 2029

there’s a place I want to show you on the lower east side

of a dumpster

before we die

we’ll find a restaurant

on W 23rd Street

named for a playwright

ride the subway to Lincoln Center

feed the last of our excuses

to wanton pigeons

lose ourselves


adding a single entry

for everything we never shared

to the archive

oh, did I mention

it’s a Friday


fog pressed to a window pane

i’ve spent my life

thinking about people

who were not there

those whose love

came measured

in teaspoons

hidden in poems

please know

i didn’t write this for you


i’m taking my coffee black

this morning


save everything you can

the house is a total loss

horses screaming caught

in my hair

choking ash

simmering iron

bits of

our children crying in the truck

the dogs are missing

barn roof’s fully engulfed

rafter pine pops

we run to claw open stall doors

as this year becomes a list

of things we lost in the fire



we go through the motions

nods, hellos, & how are yous

eyes casting down not to impose

swallowed back into a mask that is saving humanity

but depriving us of dimples

a curl at the corner of a wink and a smile

warm creases telling jokes

knowing microexpressions

laugh lines

that dopamine rush of connectivity

that reminds us why

we fight to stay alive

what it is to be human

remember to look up

into my eyes


left it standing

my fears are hidden at home in my onion knife

as I drink coffee that tastes like David Mamet

left it standing

downtown on a Tuesday morning

during a plague

somehow that proves

there are things I don’t regret

while we pretend to have enough choices left

the way a crumbling sidewalk shows us

dandelions will continue to grow

on the strength of their convictions