Tuesday, March 4, 2014


thought about starting
with a quote
but it seemed cowardly

or what about a joke
too impersonal
and I'm not funny

perhaps something sweet
a compliment or confession
of feelings
too much
too soon

I could
keep it simple
say it straight

a haiku

merry christmas beb
hope you enjoy the present
thank me with a kiss

I can be more
profound than this

here goes
I promise

if this is the last
gift you receive from me

no matter

I'll always be

that Woman
who gave you pure
romance encased
in leather and ink


There came a point when I stopped
believing I would find
happiness, I thought
happiness was an impossible dream
people chase like a Carrot
dangling from a string,

that at best I’d make do
with simply being
entertained in between the rest
of the moments of living.

These moments, expanses
of nothingness, bleak,
filled with human placeholders
for a myth I laid to rest,

because all my heart needs is to beat,

were enough to convince me
that a muscle unchallenged is weak.

In stagnant air, each footstep is
a chore, but you came
like a breath of warm wind
on the back of my sunburnt neck,
a gentle push,
just what I needed to put
one foot in front of the other,
to reach the Carrot.


I'm not sorry we moved
from place to place,
because there was a time for wandering,
but home is for growth,
it's just that now we get to pick
where we bury our roots.

I'm not sorry our stomachs aren't flat anymore.

I don't miss the club or spring break.
My hair is slowly turning gray
and I just realized I have never been
as beautiful as I am now,

and you are more beautiful every day,
each wrinkle,
errant hair,
imperfect shapes that build beauty
in your heart and in your hands,
in the worlds you create every day,
your eyes their holy book.

I am in love with your slow decay,
because I put it there,
in some small way.

How relieved I am,
that you are not young anymore,
that I am the bird on the land.
Our mistakes are still mistakes but
they are less childish and we don't
cry every time
we play a losing hand.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013


Thirty is too old
for the club
for the booze cruise

here I am
twenty five and tired
of the overpriced drinks
and shitty bands

he is always in a hurry

I can offer
the rest
is out of my hands

the slow burn of bad years
have taught me to learn
I yearn for a student

he doesn't understand

he is always looking
for a means to the end

I have nothing to offer
I call him a good man
teach myself the value
of the means to an end

Thursday, December 27, 2012


the last train car smells
like old milk
all aboard to sway
between First and Bedford
on the slow creep
reserved for late nights

old milk and beer

a child asleep on mother's lap
knit cap
falling over one eye
one aging Asian lady
holding plastic bags
filled with god knows what

who's been drinking ambrosia
is this the new drink
I am behind

my old brown
boots shuffle to make
room for more


It's been a weird couple
Of weeks with a lot
Going on and now
It's late and I can't sleep
And I can't help
For some reason but wonder
What you know about me

You probably suspected
But if you cared it never showed
I might as well let it out
Like a sigh of relief
That I loved you and I might still
And if I didn't believe
You're a good man

I'd never think something like

You're such a disappointment
Sent from my iPhone


our World is the dull
yellow light
my laugh
knees drawn up
on your couch
wet jeans hung to dry

sometimes your hands remember my thighs

yellow light doesn't lay
itself burdensome
itself like day

upon our freckled shoulders
Intimacy is a big word

we are happy and unglamorous
we always share

a fruit before bed