sickness trapped in lungs, smothering
a throat singing garbled wheezes, i
cough violently to scrape you onto
a tissue.

you sit innocently like a
dead fish splayed on a toilet seat.
viscuous flesh sliding about in
a color of nausea & the residual taste
of blood coating the back of my tongue.



This poem used the words found on the Predictive program on my iPhone’s keyboard. Line breaks are of my own discretion.

the way we do this
we should try it out
because it makes me so sad
and we both are so different  

you are different from me
but i can tell you that you are
a beautiful person who can
be the best person to me 

i don’t like me but
that’s not a bad thing to me
because you know that
you are a good person to be 
the only one for me


summer in the city

moist heat on sidewalks
didn’t stop my walks around
aisles of picture books.

blue plastic pool filled
of mermaid dreams and wide seas
on concrete driveways.

six quarters meant wealth
in the form of a soft serve
by a singing van.

parks oozing with life,
games of tag and hide and seek,
refuge on a swing.

electric lightning bugs,
luminescent on my palms,
til dusk do us part.


in a swarm of heat, the flesh soon
rendered tight and suffocating. the
tears pooled on sheets, cheeks
turning wet and wrinkled, as if
barely swimming. the body ravaged,
trembling away at emptied words like
an inflated currency. love is a
commodity, sold over and over until
a tragedy of the commons reaches
inevitable. the only sensuality remains
in the dystrophy of our soul.


“In my mind I see fingers grasping at a fabric caught in the wind. With each attempt to take hold, the fabric is nearly lost.”

it’s like
the time i dropped a thermometer on laminate tile and watched
as the thing shattered into glass shards and mercury beads. i
learned of quicksilver from sweeping up the silvery liquid and
my curiosity.

with all nine lives still intact, life became a game
of bong hits and night trips and dirty quips and
tally marks etched on the backs of other boys. one
long lesson of snakes and ladders with chance as the

a day after sweeping, my foot caught on to a shimmer of
glass, which looked a bit like the mercury. i flicked
it off, quietly hoping the poison avoided my bloodstream.

another love poem

moments of balmy summer, of
saltwater skin and sticky
eyelids, pooled in that soft
place between your ribs and
shoulder blade. my ear pressed
into you, your blood made the
sound of crashing waves and
a rhytmic thud of feet atop
wet sand.

your fingers dip into strands
of my hair as gravity
pulls to the sea floor.
your voice a fleeting sound
as a kite cut loose.

seven ways of feeling the sun

Just for something new, this poem was inspired by today’s NaPoWriMo prompt.

neither east or west,
the sun pulses into the noon
through sweaty windows and
air conditioned naps.

the sun disappears
behind two-story
suburban houses
growing like mushrooms,
decomposing the horizon.

ringleader of a
shadow menagerie.

eater of skin
and paint.

nuisance of
sores along the
irises, an sting
among bare shoulders.

the sun pulls gently
from yesterday’s rain
and weeps again.

lakes of mist melt
into the ground,
reappearing in the
sun’s absence.