10 minute sonnet 008, 05-24-2016 "Summer nights I sleep"

Summer nights I sleep in the tiger breath
of water hung on air, try not to fault
myself for the grudge that kicks like a colt.
Take each day the same, and nights bathe in Lethe.

But the body remembers. Humid parts,
sweaty thighs and damp pillows, so much self-
what else is there to see? How to find wealth
in the discomfort. I struggle, strive to court

the sublime, reach into my confidence
and pluck the knot that hinders; real ties
together, stressors loose as the sultry lies
dissipate. I fight off lest, happenstance

is more than enough to tame the fire.
My heart desires more than a stranger's touch,
no longer paint myself wet, sinner's brush
I leave behind. Not gone, the wet desire,

but I trade it all, all just for a kiss
of a memory to be, hopeful reminisce.

10 minute sonnet 007, 05-23-2016 "Each night is a fight"

It's hard for me do develop rapport
with myself. It's like parts of me fractured
into pieces unseen, soul enraptured
by the loss of- what? Mosquitos can't soar,

fat bug, red-filled sack of crave, jealousy
alive on it's tongue as it drinks my heart.
It's either sweat or bleed... obnoxious start
to my night. How it burns, to let it be-

I'm distracted, focus lost by the bite
I can't escape. I'd rather feel the sting
and shout once a day than let the burns sing
across my body. Each night is a fight.

I'm captured by sleep, her hands are as soft
as her shadows. She holds me aloft.

10 minute sonnet 006, 05-22-2016 "A plucked splinter is like a piece of calm"

A plucked splinter is like a piece of calm
for it takes a steady hand, like a kite
guided through the blue can then embalm
the sky with moments dancing like starlight.

Debris falls through the sky, tornado thrush
upon the Earth's shores with violence. Kreuger
burns, the meteors will scar the lush of kush
a sweet relief to bear the End. Luger

to the temple, slug within metal jolt
to wake the dead, impart within the drill
to well the soul within, watch the rags molt-
watch new bodies go skipping to the mill

with smiles wide and arms a-swinging silly-
until death, they're blessed to watch Free Willy.

10 minute sonnet 005, 05-22-2016 "I lay the words out randomly"

I lay the words out randomly as though
I know there's hidden order- I'm no thrall
to meaningless babble, my color's shawl
a beautiful filter, a sweet aloe

that calms the vagrant fires. Bellows fragrance
the heat of soul doth aim- the stouted trout
and sands will rot, the hottest suns without
focus could not cook an egg, thus askance

the fires dance until they find the bread
of life- It's purpose! it's the precious choice
to find meaning in all. There's a Rolls Royce
on either fork in the road, or there's lead

in your boots wherever you tread. Belie
the negative- If you can't see... just try!

10 minute sonnet 004, 05-21-2016 "A thwarted mind is easily to trust"

A thwarted mind is easily to trust
in those who wield a powerlessness felt
within the bones. The sycamores will bust
in two as shrapnel leaves leave scars and welt

imprudent skin. Home is not far, do care
before the need arises, bid adieu
to the soft-shadowed shores, let the wind soar
above your tired eyes, sing  above the blue.

A snake trick is set on sour lips, the wrath
of which lays solemn on the tongue. Wet slide
a quick demise, we're left in chaos, math
unseen to open minds and clip the wide

circumference of our hearts. The seething red
of passion stab the mourning sun, dead head.

10 minute sonnet 003, 05-20-2016 - "I know I'm not @ ease"

I won't fake it, I know I'm not @ ease,
water's hung on the air, blankets are told
to take the weeks off, to summer I'm sold.
Stagnant, wrapped in my own heat, feel no breeze

as I remind myself I'm far from hell.
There's a sense of powerlessness . I fall
into a black corner, shadows bear, call
on me, I feel pins on my neck, I yell

not, but breathe and feel weak. Where's the clout
I'm used to? I must change this place with
all I have, yet. Focus on the words, lithe
sounds, meaning knowing felt, it's a long bout.

My sweat hisses to steam, melting my skill
to sweet ichor- kill the cloak. What a thrill

10 minute sonnet 002, 05-19-2016 - "I fell apart"

I fell apart, felt your love like a shroud
left burning on my skin. I drank the well
of poisoned waters deep, and so I fell
into the false realities allowed

to filter my mind, sifted truth from you
and me, and in my manic panic fled
the words, spoke truthfully but broken, read
by you with eyes I can't perceive, in lieu

of what I'm sure escaped us both. We tread
the waters of what never could, let fall
our hearts, knees grounded, hit a wall
as both saw what we wanted to: the red

of love we didn't know was no. The heart
survives, still beating- can you hear? Coarse start.

10 minute sonnet 001, 05-19-2016 - "I want to wash away the sorrow"

I want to wash away the sorrow
from your whetted wings. I wish to slip
the dew from your green tongue, and ship
away the fragments of your past. Follow

my lead, I'll take you where the fears deserve
to sleep, the cave of skies where all intent
is one with pure rest, where shadows are bent
out of floors and walls, 3-D shapes that carve

to your tired body. Alas, it's the fool
who knows the book but tries with lies to read
between the lines in search of fevered dead:
He seeks the worst, cuts lizards' necks to cool

his rotten hands. Not one more could he love,
yet I swelter under the hushed breath of doves.

My home is home to many

written @ Saint Matthew's House, homeless shelter in Collier County, Florida

Here time is sharp, cuts lights
out at ten as the lingering chatter dies down
like gossip found out.
Music persists
but louder than headphones are the snores
and sharper than time are the coughs
sporadically torn from
throats and wet

It's half past two
and a hack of a cough is killed
in a pillow— a sniffle blips,
the night's most humble sound,
and the bite on my thigh
the loudest by far. Jealous,
the bites on my arms scream
to the bites on my calves
and the bites on my ankles,
a choir of fire. Nails
tearing skin add to the din,
and so it goes on—
cough itch scratch itch
itch cough itch scratch.

Sleep’s no escape
as I wake to find
the black bed
bugs scurrying
off me.

My nose curls
as I
and feel
them crush
beneath my disgust
to red
fetid memories
on white sheets. 


I take a deep breath
and let myself feel
my shirt shifting on my skin,
the night's only caress
except for my pen.


White moon
You bloom incandescent
Fevers through my spine.

I align body and mind to your fire, feeling
The skin on my face humming
Your song to the sky.

The black night breathes
your light, thick where stars flash
And fire electric

Through the brief synapse of time.
Pulsing in morse,
Telling me to listen.

I blanket my thoughts
In silence, hoping
The calm will unravel their code.


The cellophane between your lips
   betrays your silent singing.
Your body hums acoustic, slips
   the veil off your perceiving.
You struggle to be free (recall
the burning monk, the sable shawl).
A muted roar, talent enthralled-
   your neck their words are wringing.

So you cut them off, walked away
   unraveling the twisted
threads of your mind, the DNA
   so cleverly enlisted.
Among these ranks I've hid a bomb-
two methyls and a trip to Nam,
a mine whose rhyme is mean, & Psalm
   2- Prayers for those who missed it.

My friend, this is no easy path,
   engage your thoughts to render
revelation: the aftermath
   of spirit sold as tender.
On the worn road the blind will stay
and don the veil to hide away
the blasphemy of self betrayed,
   of their own will surrendered.

Four hungry eyes become the threat,
don't let the Iced CREAM blind. Burn
focus on your blood and sweat,
   taste your grit and starving learn
to forsake food. Embrace hard days
for luxuries confuse and raze
mind & soul. In quiet healing gaze
   within. Truth your heart discerns.

Soon comes the day when music stops,
   consider this your warning.
It's on that day the scythe will drop-
   the dawn of a great mourning.
As silence met with rapture nears
spit diamonds through your teeth, veneers
whose brilliance will hide your spears-
   The tribes will soon be warring.

As peace becomes a farsung cry
   and the dandelions shriek
unto the peeling crimson sky,
   I pray you rise above the meek,
become the man whose bloody roar
will rise about the shouts of war
to cull the herd with flaming sword.

   Welcome Hell, her death to wreak.

Lost at Sea

You skimmed through the bars like a pebble,
each splash a cheer
until the water got heavy
and the money ran out.
So you drove home
staying between the lines
until you parked. You swayed
to the door with it’s tricky lock.
Once inside you fell like a sack
of wet rocks on the beer-stained couch
where you left your bottle of just-enough
Jagermeister Spice. You gulp twice
and swear before skimming through
the same infomercials, dulling
whatever’s left of the blues
you don’t see, keeping them
blurred. Your head swirls. You smile
and become a single poinsettia in a Monet
and sing like a sparrow perched on a lion’s tongue.
You close your eyes and start to feel
acid in your gut climb to the back of your throat
like warm chunks of sour tapioca.
You fight the retch,
stumbling up, shoulders back, head level,
breathing deep and slow, with patience.
But purpose is lost
in a sea you can’t see. Up ahead
there’s a bright yellow flower. It hurts
to look at, so you squint and wonder why
you know tomorrow it will be gone.

Grace from Ariel (reprise): Movements Unto Self

For Sylvia

     lit rails shine
whet reflections
     Unorthodox high  lacerates septum
The phosphorous rivulets
tongue and throat  in bitter
     forbearance of aciculate fire   Flint
teeth click and light liquor  vapors
     To napalm

     torrid chords coalesce
reserved breath and barbed  triggers
     The hoarse choir  erupts  Seized

lungs  molt to nectar tears-
     God twins. Meeting
halves fulfilling the heart,

          and she
     blessed Sol, her mantle blossoms dawn,
limpid blue to grace the sable shawl,
     and from her crest will healing truths shine forth
to sew the scars catharsis fains to bare


Burning I rise
To swallow the cross and summon
Tsunamis from my jungle lungs.

With a whim my Mongol breath
Turns water to gasoline-
Watch me drown

Igniting explosives
Setting fire to the skies,
Setting fire to the old

Outdated lives
Of a billion blind eyes
Addicted to box, the cave

Of colored shadows
Cast in 1280p HD.
Hunt for light

Break free of false idolatries
Mistakenly claimed as your “I Am”
For truth declares

I Am We
We Are One
We burned to become

The brilliant Son baptized in liquor pools
And sweat-soaked sheets,
Grasping for heaven

With acid tabs under our tongues,
Hands full of sin
And minds full of gold we could not see

But now we feel- Broken free,
What vibrant bombast
As we become

The dragon's throat
And threat of song

We sing with fists
Of ox and oak-
Apollo's match and muscle-

Our bronco hearts
Our bloody knuckles

Fire to dawn
As roaring we swarm




I lurk in the black
room with one frail light
above me. She hovers

naked like a moon
draped in crimson. Around her
famished men with holocaust limbs

and sickle fangs beg at her feet.
She holds out her palms and gasps
as they sink into her wrists.

She bites her lips,
splitting skin as blood drips
to starving mouths. Their black

veins glisten, throb, pulsing
through taut skin.
Their eyes blacken

as she lays her head back,
moaning, hair floating
amber smoke.

I watch her and my lips purse, gently blowing
strands of silver curling in the black
spelling truth with the words "Love"

"Forever" and "Only You" - her bleeding
stops as my words wrap
tight around her ankles and wrists.

She floats into my arms
burning to gold.
I kiss her. I feel her

pulse throb through her lips
as her eyes glow rose
and mine shine black.

I fucked to love, but never made it


Her crying pulse heralds the chaotic
Bellows of deeper thrash. I tear into
Her heart and lick its length until my tongue blooms

Lush, bloodrose- parting lips.
Lust the crave, the crutch
I grab and clutch and push. To carry on

Is vanity- such endeavors in the name of love
Are feats of self-deception,
A felony of lips

Giving way to squandered breath, pleasure past-
A thorn to pierce the supple mass
And burn the skin I hold close.