Selected Works
A grimy repose
If these motes of dust on the walls
could whisper memories to me
while I dreamt about missing you
I'd doze in the soot of yesterday
If only I could put them in a jar
to sing me off to sleep where
smut choked gospel choirs
cry of San Francisco
I'd take even that gossamer thread
to remind me that you were just here
scolding me for trying to clean
and now I don't want to
Modern brutes
The celebrity has replaced
the sacrificial virgin
in our society
We throw flowers at their feet
Watch open mouthed
as they climb Mt Beverly
and cheer with joyous disdain
when they fall
What beast still lives behind our eyes
that needs to see a beautiful person
be worshipped by all
only to be torn apart before next spring?
Do the gods still watch?
Does Dionysus love when we
gawk at a depressed actor's drug habit?
Does Venus squeal behind her fingers
at the love affairs?
What other brutalities do we still cling to
While calling ourselves modern?
Cocoon in the garden
There is a cocoon out in the garden
Its little passenger is still inside
Though its siblings are long gone
Is it dead? Or is it stubborn?
Maybe stubborn is the wrong word
There is a room inside my heart
This room, it smells like fear
Though I keep it tidy now
Lined with soft clothes
Where a familiar hush folds over me
It is my duty to keep this space neat
Just like this little body had to hide away
So I'll keep it there, this cocoon
An uncanny leaf at first glance
An auspicious lack of choice for us both
Mushy potential
He has a soggy matchbox heart
One more light
and the whole thing might crumble
You see, he’s one of those
He doesn't believe in summer
while In the chilly arms of winter
But somehow never manages to complain
about the cold in the fall
So don't give him hope
Not now
Hope is for the ones
who didn't grow up in a haunted house
Sad part is
he still thinks he was the ghost
But he was just hiding in the bedsheets
He was never the one
wailing
and slamming doors