Poetry, Prose, Art, Photography, Random Shit



forever stamps

the longer we live
we learn that reality
is volatile
an inconstant lover

ah, but…
what would have been…
what amounts to regret
what amounts to loss
is god damned indestructible

iron ore into steel

& then forever

asphalt nile

driving to work

sleepy eyes searching for signs

of life

rounding mount adams

on columbia parkway

asphalt nile

church of the immaculata watching over

queen’s tiara skyline

the city unfurls

buildings rising

to meet the sunlight

morning glory blossoms

in cincinnati



war by candlelight

amidst the curiosities

of my yet to be packed up

roll top desk

i found a diamond bracelet

you had given me

hiding in one of

the apothecary drawers

it reminded me immediately

how you waged

war by candlelight

instinctively i pulled the pin

on that gauche grenade

lobbing the tacky bauble

into the goose shit encircled pond

behind the house

your weaponry

is not welcome here


trick candle

when life has taught you

all love ends

in pain

it becomes easy

to extinguish every flame

but not him

he’s my trick candle

he burns brighter

the more i try to blow

i have learned

to stop blustering

enjoy the party

and eat

the damned cake

a traveler’s guide to avoiding a hell of your own making

it’s taken me
nearly forty years
to learn to say
to fear
to vice
to vanity
to unhealthy people
to intolerable situations
so to hell with
fake it ’til you make it
i say
fuck it ’til you chuck it

a poet is

a poet is a towering painting
in a sunlit gallery
of an ancient museum
gilded frame displaying
a livid angel whose face
gapes in horror at the past
fiery sword in one hand
cradling a cherubic baby in the other
whose innocent eyes glimmer toward
all hopes for the future
their wings raging
in the storm
of the present

on stray cats

writers take in

& tend to each other


a warm place to sleep

in the heart

a saucer of milk

lines dedicated

meat nibbled bones of relief

the way loving souls dote

on stray cats

they cannot keep

Tiny Jack

little boy

nine years old, I’d say

leaning on the wall by the

Newberry Medal bookshelf

red Chuck Taylor’s

one foot pulled up

brown hair

tan corduroys ripped at the knee

not-so-white button down shirt

looking like a

tiny Jack


eyes wide

lost in the pages of

A Wrinkle in Time

I smile and think

one day

he’ll be traveling

On the Road


the kiss was beautiful

the kiss was beautiful

for the first time in my life

i love someone

more than my heart can stand it

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