Blue Diary



chews nightfall to grieve

captures smoke in mason jars

dips married skin in propane


hunts when he shaves

cooks memories on a spoon

sucks on bergamot lolipops


uses gravel to exfoliate loss

worships papier-mâché breasts

drowns in lagoons of silence


goes down on glaciers & tidal waves

pours atonement in silver goblets

smiles at wasps






J ~ J = { }


flies track scent
all of you
filleted skin
raw paper tongue
heart like a sewer

swat them with bones
pledge allegiance to
forged resilience
suture the Why

maneuver of pride
hides your wreckage
in breathless box
kiss of shadow

naive pale soldier
they will find you
in a polluted heap
chewing her name


images (4)

clocks spin & scream

plastic storm hands

clap like death


on the horizon, beneath

god, spirals of copper fire

gears & clouds burn as one


time reverses, you appear

a faceless mirage

blackbird in a box


same as before


April is National Poetry Month. Lots of folks are writing a poem each day in celebration, but I’m not that productive. Even if you don’t write much, why not give poetry a spin? Turn the TV off, tell the kids to go outside and play, and jot a few words down. One word leads to two leads to eight leads to your inner-thoughts spilled out before you. Catharsis on the page. Create.



Bones harbor a noise

of wickedness, cruel notes

marinating in marrow. Excavate

them, lift them to your ear

like a paralyzed seashell, drown

in the sound of pollution. Rap

them on glass and absorb the chilled

detachment. It’s your blood, your fingerprints

your apathy conducting this diseased

orchestra of tender delirium.

Savage Sunday

Another Place at Crosby Beach

A stone church
lacquered pew
bruised knees
mind of scripture
heart of homicide
prayers in your throat
oh faithful bird
baptize your trauma
weep stained-glass tears
from candlelight eyes
revel in black bells
exploding on the cross
toll, toll, toll
for you, holy bird
ancient lungs heave
for you

drop your head
rosary beads curled
around brutal hands
like brass knuckles
preacher man vomits
his addictive sermon
you, naked with worship
aroused human tongue
lick, lick, lick
a prophet’s truth
gag on psalms
drink a serpent’s glory
oh righteous bird
home is atonement
salvation is a window
open your bones

This poem of mine finished third in the Poised Pen Another Place poetry contest. With my placing, I was actually able to put some coin in my pocket, a rare thing. I also won a poetry book from the judge James Nash. Your poem had to be inspired from the photo above, and you had to use three key words. I chose: naked, man, and home. The results page can be found here.



Her image is a trough

Pigs gnaw cleavage


Snort blackbird strands


Stumble stupidly in filtered slop

Pigs squeal at pixels
Digest skin with verve
lurk with lust

They feed & trespass
Pork boys
A swarm of filth

Morning & midnight
Backyard & bedroom
Online & overt
Catcalls & callouses

Wrecked on digital dope
Panting and posturing


All of them



That one moment when I choke
the fury and scrape away

layers of perceived slights, when
I am focused and unburdened

when I am free of toxins and
conspiring lies and see unbiased truth

Inside that vial of awareness, I realize
how I engineered all of this. The medal

of blame hangs from my neck, not yours.
I can finally reckon with your silence,

accept our estrangement and allow
myself to inhale the memory of you

Stripped of selfishness, I embrace
the totality of your gift to me

Such moments must be hunted
but I cherish them. How could I not?

You rearranged me. You are the
creator of this evolved man

Your language beats in my mind
Your visage blinks in my veins

Don’t stay gone

Wasp Nest


the man stood in the
center of the room
it was rearranged

transformed by hours
and illness
the walls and carpet
darker than before

the hum of deranged
chemistry plotted
fresh paint and
vacuumed floors

when he walked the halls
doors slammed
and latched
with an aggressive

he felt their eyes
brown and blue
and vigorous
heavy with wet

he twisted brass knobs
and banged on fake wood
peeked under frames

it’s me, he thought

endless conversations
and sweet laughter
of music and books
life retold

that time
I stumbled
your sun

the man crawled outside
smoked a cigarette
got up and paced
and paced
feet and concrete
and nothingness
the sky swallowed his

her silhouette taunts
on glass doors
curves that sing
radiance that heals
that stylish bob

oh yes

a reflection
lost blood
and hysteria

do not fall
do not reveal
do not trust

she filled
his heart with silence
a cocktail

until you see fire
old friend

until your veins
swell with me
old friend

drink me today and
tomorrow and
old friend

the man smiled at
temptation, raised
her voiceless
his mouth

and drank and drank
until he saw
at last
the black dawn
never again

I “borrowed” the title from this song, a tune that has 2 different roles in this poem. Plus, I feel it’s important to give credit to the artist I borrowed from.