Screaming into life and breath

The banshees have got nothing on you

all days numbered linear and in a neat row

each year a milestone if you care to appreciate the depreciation of it all

a prison of comfort for some or chamber of horrors for some seasons of meaning

no guarantee of anything but the minute you ride in on burdened with woe and fear

holding fast to the fixation of each new dawn fending off the reaper and the gatekeeper

until one day the vessel breaks, the heart stops, the flooding sweeps away the breath caught in your throat

and the windpipe dreamer splits open revealing the grain of sand for each life lived

Life is indeed beach




the solitary in profile

caught by sight

somewhere in the sleep of night

eye to eye

all in an instant

and all things felt

climbing out of skin and bone

to see the speaking of the mind

temple to temple

iris to iris

and in the end

you are you

I am me

but together

who are we?

And will our finding set us free?

Season of Ill Repute

She is standing on her usual corner

wantonly reaching, swaying and strutting for attention

into the chill evening she dances when the wind blows

shamelessly stripping herself of her eden leaves

a naked silhouette against the bordello red sunset

the desolate reminder of the cold and merciless winds of her private winter

that will eventually blow and break her in the middle

Dross And Matter

Poison air the suffocator smoked out the mean and cruel

your dueling advocates in the game

and once again I play watcher and sideliner

your eternal observer in shades of blue and black

equal and so close aware

Show me down now with your upraised hands

a clapping lunatic who still hasn’t paid the piper

but take the podium when you can

Spread the neutralizer in neat uniform rows

duplicitous spewer of acrid letters

arranged in accusation and innuendo

your sentence

your life

it’s your design my dear,

a parched and wasted melodrama


and as reasonable a facsimile for passion as you can muster

while we both watch your soul atrophy

from your addiction to intellectual sloth

You think your feeding an ego

but these fractured delineations  you contrive

could never prop up any thought

or keep a dream alive


I remember 21 and 23

the iron fence and you and me

Then came the storm of voices and fears

the all nighters of talking down and body sobbing aches

we tranquilized the banshees that tormented you

pill up pill down

Mary Poppins style for  you my sugar

until you were comfortable

until you were numb

inside your very own medicated prism of bent and fractured light

You still could shine