A Love Letter to Self

Sometimes I am

an empty barn

Still warm

from the cattle sent to slaughter


like embarrassed eyes

averting the homeless man

prostrate on the street corner


like the open mouth

of people

watching the aftermath

of a car wreck


maybe it’s because

 I have difficulty breathing

at the thought

of running into people I know

 at convenience stores


maybe it’s all those murdered memories

bodies chalked on my synapses

calling to be crucified


maybe it’s because I got stuck

 to the roofing tar of your cathedrals

or that I can’t cater to

the cause of your existence


the scope of your being

 gives me agoraphobia sometimes


I feel comfortable

cramped in the corners

of my doubts


pinned to the walls

by the needles at my fingertips


I tried to dissect my skin

to show you that I can still bleed


all that did

was make a mess

and kept your curtains closed


I’ve since sewed those sutures


learning to love

 the bottom of my lungs

from watching the trees

dance in the wind


I still sometimes sink

to the bottom

of those old blood pools

 I left in the wells of why


I now know blood when I see it

And I know

that it merely precedes a scar


tattooing itself to remind me

that those marks are as much us

as those gleams

in the corners of our iris


that cry wonder

at the wailing awe of our ocean


that pick up the leaves

 in the wake of our dancing


that stretch arms out

to the lengths of our latitudes


that scream

 at the clouds



 to the termites



to the bark



 to the critters in their cathedrals

the mountains in their barns

the gods in their shacks

and the nothings in our heavens



all perfect


Restless Nights

My eyes don’t rest

On sleepless nights


Fixed on the filament's

Residual glow


The weight of

Misgivings and misdoings,

Concrete and conjured


The future sewing

Its endless lists

On synapses


Fish hooks slipping into

A hazy stupor


Machine gun thought process

Tripping land-mine memories


A handshake gone wrong

A misplaced frown

A stuttered utterance

An averted eye

A missed hello



To Make a Wish is to Say Yes to Maybe


I wish

to peel off the layers

that don’t fit

between my rib cage


They rise above

the night pooled sweat

hanging flaccidly and impotent


To examine my bones

for calluses made for the callous

asking why they left

rocks in my throat


I wish to help my hands

loosen the grip on my anxious,

help my jawbones

unhinge my worries


To shrug off the weight of my no’s

to give loft to my maybes


I wish to take the shoes

off my uncertainty,

dance with the streetlight

on warm summer nights


To laugh the tops off the mountains

of my misunderstandings,

boom echoes in the valleys

of my furrowed brows



I wish to love my lungs enough

to exhale

an eternal yes

to the gates guarded

by my cant’s


To find my whys answer

within its own utterance


I wish to be an astronaut

to plug my umbilical

into the planet’s rotation


I wish to feel my fire vibrate

with the deep hum of purpose,

build bonfires in my belly


I am stuck here

like you


Waiting for my want



let’s fill each other’s cup

and decide together

who we want to be


Whispers in the Deathless Dust


 In the deathless dust


Tell stories


Of the atoms forged

In the center of a dying star


Of the laughing abyss


To the drum beat

Of the outer universe




Of every boot

Laid prostrate

In the mud,

At home in the earth




Of first kisses

And silent tears


Of fractured molars

And hunched shoulders


Nights spent

Seeking meaning

In plaster ceilings


Whispers that pass

Into the nothingness




Content in their utterance

Shattered Nerves

A car wreck


broken safety glass

still intact


cracked concrete

under rubber soles

takes a heavy seat

in the corner



shoulder movements


under desk light

under moon light

under street lamp


in cardboard boxes

in rain

in the blood of bit lips


tips of stiletto heals

on cobblestone

on brick-way


moss growing

on back alley walls


it flows

with gutter runoff

oil-slick freeways


tires spin in unwanted direction

the glass waits patiently

in the panic of a pile-up