August 26, 2009


Last shut of the door
Moving out and moving on
The sun licks my face

June 12, 2009

Grief is elusive
like steam from tea
like a passing thought
of days gone by

Grief consumes me
intoxicates me

But only for a moment

Welling eyes and hot face

It's pain that doesn't hurt
like bad words
like a backfiring tailpipe

The pain consumes me
and twists me
It pours me on the floor
and pokes needles in my spine

Then it's gone
like hunger
like laughter

May 21, 2009

We Believe

We believe in the sweat of a brow
and tearing of the flesh. Work hard
and dream light.
A dollar an hour to seven.
Barefoot on wood
twisting to a perfect diamond. Work hard
and dream light.
Surrounding the wall built higher and higher.

We eat what's left on the floor.
Small scraps
crumpled and fallen in the speed to consume.
It's so much older.
It's so much wiser.
It tastes like
it's only been there for a moment.

We live for yesterday.
For tomorrow. For everyone.
So they can step and stomp and rush and...
Live the life they want you to.
Bound in soiled rags. Tight,
tight, tight.

We walk with numb dreams.
Looking to the pebbles and gravel.
Holes in the ground,
in your feet,
in your work.
And in your dreams. Slipping out,
no pressure builds up.

We carry the familiar
burden of little blue tags on rusted knobs.
Slippery mud lifts us to the end.
Lapping waves at heels cracked
from failed escapes
from walls that get higher with

We learn nothing of what they told us.
Drilling information into the
small holes in our heads.
Marching in the blood from
unknown hearts, fingers, legs.
Pounding fists thump on books
higher than the sky.

May 14, 2009

My Life As A Coffee Cup

Once but a shallow bowl
half full
of black caffeinated sugary goo.
Now in its shadowy depths
I cry
for that welcome and refreshing refill.

My life as a coffee cup
was spent watching
with cold indifference
as they sipped their large pink smoothies
and shot out the door with lattes to go.

Monuments of shrugs and shadows
build on this shelf.
I need people to order
just one cup of joe.

Filled to the brim
and emptied out quick.
The conversations,
the cigarettes and lips.

My life as a coffee cup
all stained and cracked -
cute little slogans
worn thin.

I share space with the rest
each for twenty five cents.

May 13, 2009

on a grassy knoll

Dirty water
drips away
into the
collective contamination
of gathering souls.
Thinking about sex;
talking about money

May 11, 2009

I love him like butterfly wings
    on a bridge to somewhere
              to something

    soft kisses
       and nothing
       like a passing star

       crossing and falling
between our heads
       like butterfly wings

         I love him like wisps of smoke
              like dreams at night


         I love him
              like nothing

May 4, 2009

Phone Call

Your rattling sounds in my ear
fuck your group logic and unworkable aim
your sections of words violate me
            I’m counting till it’s over
…seven… …eight…

I don’t want to talk to you
handshapes and footstools, heart murmurs and assholes
your lethal wailing sutures the sky
gray outnumbers the colored glass, I see
…ten… …eleven…

Seven sins, ten commands and
            blue sister; you keep staring, look at what you did
stop talking, Stop Talking
using control with shiny trinkets and boxes from last year
…thirteen… …fourteen…

Lisp, list, listen and loathe
I left three thousand
miles to go
strangers even know where you left off
…sixteen… …seventeen…

Fuck your notions and desperate appeal
I can’t get away from your lack of skill and unkind compliments
I’ll end it now,
I’ll take it for my kids so you won’t have anymore
…nineteen… …twenty…

You tell me they judge me because they feel sorry for me
they praise me because I complain
I get the sympathy vote; I’m pathetic
so what are you?
…twenty-two… …twenty-three…

I’m too old to realize and
you won’t listen to the good
fuck you and your river; your stream of pity and your
“So what’s new with you? Nothing new here.”
…twenty-five… …twenty-six…

Nightmares from pills I won’t take, I live in my dreams
I stopped listening to you but you didn’t hear that
fuck your insidious sound
rattling in my head

May 3, 2009

one day at a time


too old to party
fried eyeballs and aching head
cold turns mist to fog


circled with no voice
writing fists fly in the air
language in my hands


laundrymat evening
metal twist and rubber dust
bubble suds with rain

April 26, 2009


The warm embrace of family meals and holiday carols grew cold many years ago. Greed and Depression had amputated tender moments and tragic memorials. Now, my resentful insanity grew like a disease after they left me. My growing contempt for humanity is hidden by plaster and nails wrapped in pale gray skin.
I gasp for air through fused transparent steel. Darkened windows with black tattered blankets hide the sunlight from my chilled core. Labored breath struggles within cavernous spaces leaving only a frosty mist. Floorboards tremble with growing pains, and my aching frame moans in shattering silence. In the darkest part of time, I weep sticky tears and hold my breath. There is no one around that will hear.
Intermittent and weak, my blood throbs through wooden flesh bringing a flicker of light to those who take asylum in my punctured and stained walls. They leave for me infected needles, smoldering pans, sheets soaked with urine and blood, and feasting rodents that lacerate my being with sharp teeth in search of a quicker path or a better meal.

House for sale or trade, talk to Henry at the General Store

"That house has quite a history," said Henry as he loaded a bag of horse feed on the back of my pickup.
"Old Mr. Step used to live there when he was factory supervisor. About ten years ago. His wife got pneumonia and died. Poor little Cindy, losing her mother like that. He eventually hooked up with Martha...ya know, that seamstress that lived in the little trailer on Main Street with her two devil daughters. Mr. Step and the soon to be Martha Step skipped town. Good riddance, I say. Took the trailer and the three girls. Think they headed out west. Mr. Step sold the place to me, but with this store, I haven’t had much time for it."
I was looking for an investment really. Something to buy and fix up. I was wondering how much Henry was wanting or what he was willing to take as a trade.
"Have you gotten any offers yet," I asked just to feel him out.
"Well, some time ago, a right handsome couple came through town and offered me a glass casket and a hook prosthesis but ain't nobody wanting that sort of grim finery. But I mostly get offers like magic beans, fairy powder, apples, spindles and talking crickets - not enough for a house though. I'm not that hard up yet."
He wiped his dusty hands across his apron and examined my reaction before he justified his statement, "It may be a bit rundown, but it’s still in pretty good shape. It has a small wood shop with puppet parts and some rabbit holes in back, but it’s all fixed up real nice. I ran those squatters out and did quite a bit a cleaning up. She's a good house."
"Well, Henry, " I said, waiting for a look or comment to sway the proposal that was going to spill from my lips in a alternate direction. "Henry, I'll offer you two horses and a top o’ the line, fully loaded, barely used, white carriage." I took a breath and waited for a full belly laugh and a wave goodbye.
New to market,
Charming yet
rustic, 2,000
sq.ft. 4BR, 1BA,
split level,
hand crafted,
new tile, paint,
vinyl, carpet
and kitchen
Historic Mirror
Lake area, $75K,

Alexander Rello opened the Binding Crystal Shoe Factory in 1989 with the inheritance left to him by his grandmother, the heiress to the Binding Shoe fortune. When he bought the factory three years before, he also bought the small gray house less than a block away. Alexander, along with the best carpenters and craftsmen money could buy, remodeled the small house with trees from the lot and the sweat from his brow for the Rello family to live in.
Alexander, with his wife Crystal and their seven children, moved into the little house in 1988. The oldest child, Alexander II, who most often went by Zander, began to emulate his father by putting in the finishing touches after his thirteenth birthday, the day his father gave him his own hammer and chisel. He was the only son and was expected to learn the craft of carpentry - it was a Rello tradition.
Zander was diligent in his effort to make the little house radiant. He spent most of his life building and adding and repairing. He manicured the hedges that lined the path to the front porch. He sanded and carved the oak for the double front doors and commissioned the molded brass handles, hinges and Rello family crests. He planned and whittled intricate swirly designs in the wooden wainscoting that lined the hallways and hand built stairwells. He nailed, punched, puttied and painted the trim throughout. He sanded, scraped, filed, cut, measured and screwed. He sliced his skin here and cut a finger there, and his ancestry flowed from him and pooled in the grain and creases, forever sealing his destiny.
Zander gently carved his name in the mantle. As flames flickered and licked at the lips of the fireplace, the word Zanderello glowed from below. Zander listened to the house whisper in his ear, softly speaking her love for him as he polished her most delicate and fragile adornments.

Home Sweet Home

I often wonder how you are so selfless with me. Just now, I realize how privileged I am to have you. In your shoes, I would not have stepped foot past the weeded gate and deadened twisted arms of oak when the family left. Your love is so absolute and pure, like the beautiful person you are. You always accepted me for what I was, willing to sacrifice everything for me. I don’t deserve a guardian like you.
Your gentle touch has opened my eyes, and I realize that I love you more than I can say. I don’t know how many lifetimes it will take to make up for all the lost time, to repay the kindness and endless love you’ve shown me.

pleased to meat you

The little gray house on Pumpkin Street rested in the shadow of the long forgotten Binding Crystal shoe factory. Gone were the days of spewing thick black cotton balls of smoke from the surrounding dormant concrete smokestacks and drunken factory workers stumbling from the watering hole to their cars. The chaos of industry thrived on Pumpkin Street a dozen or so years ago and tainted Zander Rello's blood.
After the Rello family moved out and away and after the shoe factory went bankrupt, Zander continued to care for his beloved home. He kept her up and maintained her as the best house in a nonexistent neighborhood.
As he cleaned the chimney one fall day, Zanderello held him close inside her. She collected all her warmth to repay him for his devotion and squeezed him tight. As the ashes in the fireplace glowed and sparked, Zander began to choke on the soot falling from above. His shoes melted away and his flesh began to smolder. Zander's cries were never heard because he loved her too.

April 25, 2009

Found freedom

Freedom is a Wheel in Your Sole
Freedom Is Not Free
Freedom Is Slavery
Freedom is a prepaid wireless service
Freedom is never an achieved state; like electricity
Freedom Is Theirs to Spread?
Freedom is Ageless
Freedom Is Not a Doctrine
Freedom is not America's gift to the world
Freedom Is History (and Vice Versa)
Freedom is a dead letter
Freedom is a global issue
Freedom is when the people can speak
Freedom is not free
Freedom is a State of Mind
Freedom is indivisible
Freedom is a solitary decision
Freedom Is Not Enough
Freedom is the birthright and deep desire of every human soul
Freedom is untidy
Freedom is More powerful than a Budget
Freedom is opposed to software patents
Freedom is the permanent hope of mankind
Freedom is the right of adults and parents to choose what they eat
Freedom is messy
Freedom is a basic human right recognized by the United Nations
Freedom is belonging
Freedom Is Honesty
Freedom is the foundation of US economic strength
Freedom is Good for Everyone
Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes
Freedom Is coming to a Windows Box near You
Freedom Is the Only Realistic Path to Security
Freedom is never given
Freedom Is On the March
Freedom Is My Goal
Freedom is an issue of responsibility
Freedom is put at risk
Freedom is eternal vigilance
Freedom is the Enemy
Freedom is a breakfast food
Freedom is Better
Freedom is the right of every individual to both seek and receive information from all points of view without restriction
Freedom is Overrated
Freedom is key for society’s progress and energy
Freedom is universal
Freedom is on the Rise
Freedom is at stake
Freedom is a Constant Struggle
Freedom is likely to continue
Freedom is nothing to laugh at
Freedom is priceless, but has a cost
Freedom Is Good for Women
Freedom is just days away

April 23, 2009