a transport

does this anger belong to me?
they say own it
but it’s a trick
a lie of someone else
i invested in myself

it rises up
a snake inside
acid heartburn
switchblade tongue
and i am unsure

there’s a heat
there’s a mechanism
there’s a schism
there’s a prism

it’s a cruel ice-pick in the back anger
a scorpion lie of anger
a buried to long glad to be free anger
something ugly and twisted
something unadmitted
and it preys on the weak
using me to speak


conversation stuck repeat
hermes is no longer fleet
dragged into a dumb defeat
there is glass beneath my feet

daedal whorls identity maze
hit the glass and watch it craze
rizzared icarus wings, the daze
this is how it often plays

i say to you let me put it away
find something novel to say
hearts and feathers we need to weigh
long before the judgment day

break from these concrete patterns you have made
let another tune be played
the hackneyed phrase is overplayed
we shall not now nor ever be swayed


how did i read but not see
the subtle barbs directed at me?
when exactly did it turn to hate
and an attempt to stop my create?
where did the egg break?
there’s no omelette to contemplate
we’re not in any kind of dither state
it end with slammed on brakes
what was real for you?
what’s fake?
taking up another take
took a while to finally wake
atom bomb hurled at my world
like an idiot foetal curled
more blubber than a whale
an epic fail
but that was never the end of the tale
and i swam up from the depths
learned to take new breaths

mis-step, father

i was a mis-step father
just another mistake
losing the footing
and why are you putting
any of this there?
sending up a flare
amidst some kind of mid-life scare

men are the broken wombs of their thoughts
holding silence around a still-birth
and wondering about the magic of women
in some tragic substitute way
which never says anything more than
i want to hold something i created
hold it near
hold it dear
trapped in the amber of fear

i wanted to frankenstein myself a child
to not reach death and be decompiled
to live this life not reviled
only to, as a skull, have smiled

i am sorry to those i let down
dreaming of some future disconnected
hoping the broken frame got corrected
no lens, we are not friends
i am not sure what kind of memory i am
trying to escape the sense of self as sham

my ace, sir, lapped op, crashes

you crashed again
i have too much open
i hit restore
and just like nothing happened
the words reappear

unconscious black
amnesiac white
feels like an attack
on the things i write
scuffed chrome

try to take it home
i only drink coffee
trying to keep those tabs open
i pay a price for it

blind, never thaw it

i would build you up again
because when you break it down
something in me fell apart
when you dropped through the cracks
there are subtle attacks
he loves, he lacks

i rarely look in the mirror
except to shave my head
except to shave my face
i used to live in comparison
but death took that mask
and unmade my likeness

i am not like you
this misguided pride
but i offer some gifts
differently wrapped
have to stop telling myself i’m crap
nothing ever dropped into my lap

i offer help so my heart can be stolen
i break bread so you can walk my spine
i’m the ladder for you
i’ll be sadder for you
because you don’t want me happy, do you?
i never saw it
bury it under ice and never thaw it


sometimes I feel threadbare
we bury our dead there
lay down your head where
under weeping willow
taking a makeshift pillow
we come to rest

there is a stone in my chest
there is a cocoon in my mouth
and there’s salt in my hands
to remind the stigmata
these soft foreign lands
apres moi de deluge, the drowth
and i feel momentum arrest

are you sad to see the flowers bloom?
rising like a ghost in the tomb
some kind of shady after-womb
cat’s cradle on a dreaming loom

never make giants small

i don’t want to see your autopsy table
don’t turn giants into cadavers
there is none of the spirit there
i hear no words that speak of nobility
i see a man reduced to an exit wound
and you build a picture around this
that seeks to destroy the beauty

i remember the hurt when i saw kurt
and knew the policeman somehow profited
from that invasion of privacy
for what was the man to him
but part of a procedure

we have constructed a mythical architecture
around a theft summed up with “back and to the left”
assassination tries to rob us of more than the man malcom x
it is the thing of him that was larger than a man
that had a limitless span
there was nothing esoteric about martin’s dream
why does medgar evers ever need bob to speak for him?

respect should be built
before bodies topple
and if bodies fall
we carry them high
and we avert our gaze
we do not turn the angels
into broken stone statues
we do not force them into ugly jigsaws
peace not pieces of something greedy and vile
how can you look at these things and smile?

warming forming

when your trade is words
and you twist your tongue
around excuses and reasons
and other little treasons
you feel something break away inside
there is an ice shelf shearing away

love isn’t broken wings
but listen when it sings
observe the clues it brings

as much as a passage weighs
you have to walk
and you have to talk

as leaves turn over
you knew how to read the scene
but you’ve been dumb
schroedinger’s cat got your tongue
and all those songs you would’ve sung
are in a cat’s cradle strung

they are just effects

i listen to the list of side effects
side effects don’t exist
there are just effects

if i shit easier
but piss razor blades
they are just effects

if i stop shaking
but feel suicidal
they are just effects

i think you get my point
if you love this poem; if you hate this poem
they are just effects

some syntax or semiotic dodge
these are just euphemisms
they don’t change the meaning