Selected Poems / Stories




The Future



The greatest things created have yet to be born waiting for this past to fade. How can I become work and poetry itself without tools and language? without chasing eternity through

the expressions of many. Commit to ideals, and avoid the death of a person I could have been.

Nature’s complexity fits not in a single space nor does any human, his or her ideas, or our job descriptions. People and nature change in ways to remain the same. Finding love only comes through that of finding fear. Look deeply inside yourself. Look deeply inside one another. Look to be lost and there something may be found.


The Ghost Ship



Taxi drivers can’t sleep when its dark

flat exhaustion

dead eyes, dead conversation, dead expressions

life was stolen here, taken and traded for rent, cigarettes and


people had faces that can’t smile

beaten down, beaten into a box waiting

waiting for florida in the winter

waiting to live when we get home

waiting to see how badly other got it so I can feel a little better

Waiting for the lottery or the 6 horse making his run

Waiting for the last cigarette, the last sip of wine

The dark seat in the bar where everything is perfect coaster folded ash trays, cold wet air

Slicked back hair

Old rubber plants fooled to breathe

Old stories and yesterday’s birthday cake for dinner

Hardened men, warm beer and cold women

Plastic grocery bags beneath your legs full of the day

Clothes that were ignored from the beginning

something to shelter us from the grease and dirt of the day

The ship of the neighborhood

Floating in one place, lost

Welcoming all those drowning nearby


Night Stalker



We lay sleeping in the old mansion’s living room

She had very short hair and I didn’t know her so well

We lie together waiting for someone to find us

We slept scared

She awoke to the sound of a door or obscure calling and vanished in the darkness

Was it him who lurked in the rooms looking for us or her lover

I lay alone, frightened holding a fountain pen like a knife

Something in the night watched us or wanted us

I felt shifts in the air in nearby rooms of the big house

I imagined a faceless fear close by

I lay controlling my every breath listening for hours to the ticks of an old clock

paralyzed waiting for whatever was coming for me


The Big Machine



The big machine

it brings us gifts of gold, weapons and spices

This shiny thing was so big it blocked the light of space

It was everything to everyone all the time forever

This machine pushed on the sun and poked at the moon

I heard it could split open the sea someone said at the at the bar

The big machine was a star or ancient planet on TV

this almighty machine, black shiny thing

an object of horror built of diamonds

who is this master?

you’ll block out the sun, you fuckers

what have you done to us?

You have done things to me that should never be done


The Showroom



The abandoned convertible

dirty showroom window

one car nothing else

no desk, light or life anywhere to be found

just an idea lying dormant

a vehicle to take you away from this place

or a death trap

with no roof because of the sun

there is no rain

there is no roof

this is for paradise only

but the sky is red

this is for sale if you want

the convertible says

cursing the universe

A two edged sword

living in high cotton with a belly full of beans

Get thee behind me Satan I’m driving

We Gods look upon the corrupt Impala

There is no new thing under the sun

for all we really have is the rain

Wheels in wheels

A roof over our heads




“We Buy Gold, Cash Paid”



Coins for a phrase

A drowning man clutching for the golden key to

open any door left

Cut and run from this nest of vipers

its a feeding frenzy

easy as pie on a liars tongue

breathing from the graves of their throat

Gold cages of birds - Vultures

Precious about the last of our blood

A new pit of destruction

The good of the land is gone

make everything shiny like the fool sun of the day


gimmering gold hamburgers

one dollar

Feed on us


Death Merchants



The descent into madness

an animal without speech

the blindness of the mind’s eye

Ships by the thousand arriving on the shores of laughter

red wine mixed with the blood of death merchants

everything happens here under the sun

all the evil

blinding the horses of the nation

twisting the words of the innocent

killing bodies to kill souls

A den of thieves with a bag of vipers

Once you have destroyed everything

Sons and daughters, kings and cities

you too will crawl

returning to dust


Rembrandtplein, Amsterdam



Garbage, glitter and bright lights

A million pink flamingos vomiting

A temple of filth and stained spirits

running together towards the edge of night’s knife

Platinum animals sailing on winds of dead

Laughter, cigarette smoke in a sea of strong Drinks and bad ideas

Great bad ideas swallowed with smoke

Burning your throat

Wiping the corners of your mouth

Painted smiles running from their faces

Cocaine hearts beats falling in love

The ass of empty ideals arched in high heels, tripping

Dancing to diamonds made of glass

Everything that’s wrong all in one place

The last call

The last cigarette

The last dollar

The last bit of darkness

We are here for everything and nothing

We are the future

We’ll be back just as soon as we can




Men that stand in front of huge corner office windows that look out and see nothing

Men that sail around the world and never take off their life vests

Men that have never given their feminine side flowers

Men that search for whores with hearts of gold

Men that stand around talking forever saying nothing

Men that stand around listening while hearing nothing

Men that will create nothing

Men who stand up straight and smile in their suits and institutions

Men who smile as empty as the laws we obey

Men walking like mirrors that only stare at themselves

Men who are told what to do by other men

Men who will fall beside other men

Men who believe they are men but are not men at all


Hackney Wick, UK


In the air came planes

Banking their wings like large, undecided butterflies

The sun crashes like a bull and a bartender

I am wearing my father’s pants from 10 years ago

Picasso is in the living room

Warehouses choke the trees

I sat quietly thinking of riding a horse down the canal

The horse was grey

The heat was like a tank on fire

No one is planting flowers

The buildings do not scream of victory

I will know these different places with different names

I will know her yet

As she says the thousand things

Watching a window as large as the World

I kept remembering feeding donkeys with heads like eagles that

could bite our hands but didn’t

We needed sugar

Walking by drugstores and blondes with bags of flowers

Lavender and peonies burning symphonies into the streets

She drank from a coconut

Wishing to hurt nothing

As beautiful as a deer running from a hunter

We have everything and nothing

We ate for what seemed like three days

By noon we were asleep dreaming of paying the rent

I'll Shoot The Moon Out of The Sky



The stars looked like diamonds

Then came the sirens

I’ve been out since last fall

not worrying and watching the wind

Everywhere I go it rains on me

If you slow me down I won’t be able to

take you with me

This could be the bottom of the world

but I’m not sure as I face the highway

and decide I won’t go home

The moon is the color of my shirt

We look at one another


The Mill



Smoke from the mill clouds my town’s exhausted skies while that smell of coke and airborne dirt is burning everybody’s eyes

We live on a big ole hill in the darkest part of town

This boulevard takes some one to no one, checkered pasts and whoever lasts.

where the dust covered houses fall into a sea of grey decay

Peering over that steel railing thinking about how Bobby got away

Broke down cadillacs huddle together on such a cold winter’s night

Watching dirty streetlights shine lights on half drunk cowboys fights

Soller street is dead as dead can be until that work shift runs dry at something like quarter ‘til 3

Hunkies and junkies hollering no name blames in the moon’s face at night

and pick letters off a sign that says half priced drinks come first light

There’s an old blue Lincoln in the bushes near Tony’s take away

And a tired old man in uniform drowning his last cigarette of the day in a overflowing ashtray

Ronnie’s market is closed down since the last of May and Jessy’s son Bobby got to get carrots and peas from the market now which is about 40 blocks away.


San Telmo, Argentina



I woke up early to get breakfast in the streets, it was cold. I was underdressed in a wool military coat. As I walked out I noticed immediately a gang of ten-year-olds

approaching. Perhaps 12 of them, covered in paint on their dirty faces and street eaten clothes from huffing. What seemed like an eternity, I was confronted with the idea that I could be beaten down by twelve ten-year-olds this morning. I made it into the bakery. I ordered 13 empanadas.






She was small

I could hold her entire body in my two hands like a mango

at that moment I was no longer important

The Gods’ were not longer important

nor was the volcanoes, light, astronomy, the farmer’s

almanacs, bread, or magic.

People who thought they were something became nothing

Everything was nothing

She had become the sun and the moon to us

for which we bathed and slept

rise and shine bright sun

paint the wind

move mountains with your breathe

with your gaze


She was sound asleep in my hands




Something roamed train tracks littered with garbage looking for treasure

dirty stuffed animals lie abandoned in the middle of the street

Mexicans scattered out of derelict buildings through holes in fences to stand on the corner for work in the morning

scared black taxis jumped over the train tracks


white house paint rolled old lover’s names on abandoned warehouse walls

burned, stolen cars lay resting and rusting untouched,defeated

some type of ending or some type of beginning

half way houses spilled open and second, third and fourth chancers littered the summer streets

fire hydrants cooled hot cabs, children and concrete with a dirty cold smell

the rooftops were steaming and wet with tar, old wooden

drawers filled with old beer bottles like roof fossils

cockroaches climbing out of your clothes

sleeping on the picnic table in the living room with the lights on free from bed bugs

Stay away, come closer

The city is a monster


How Poison Works



You can only drink it once.

again and again

It makes everything taste better.

It’s the escape of the day

smiling in the corners of the cobras mouth

laying in dirty covers from a sailboat

that wrap overtop of the me and the sea

staring at the sky and nothing


The Shoes of my Grandfather



black shoes on the basement stairs

curled and black next to an old baseball bat by the rusty

springs of the garage door

that never really closed all the way

a cold smell of uninviting dampness

curled, dusty, cracking insoles with the footprint of a man


there were tires in the bathtub and a flickering bulb light

that kept everything in that basement toilet a secret, my

brother and I searched everywhere for my grandfather’s



Gold Heads



He stood wearing a tuxedo made of diamonds

with empty eyes waiting for nothing and everything

she sat on the bus stop bench next to him in a gown of


they expect it soon

they will take with them nothing and everything

the ground was painting green

their faces like old cut stumps

empty gazes like dull knives

still, frozen air from the breathe of forgotten gods

heads of gold, bellies of bronze and arms of silver


capable of filling cracks in the earth


Jackyl's Head



It was 11:00 at night in Amsterdam

The sun was hung on to what was left of a pink sky

The heat of the day like lead

The summer nights

She is such a beautiful executioner

The cool of the day is coming though

I stood on the cement stoop looking down at what seemed

like a thousand cities from a million miles in the sky

Just dirt

Drinking chardonnay and smoking cigarettes

Watching the sun be pulled into bed

My last matchstick has burned

I was like a Pharoah with steel towers

Dogs of money and magicians at my heels

Painted statues

Underground streams

Tracks of mindless wanderers come and go

The dynasty that falls tomorrow

The dumpster sitting in the same place since my birth

The patch of cement in a wall of broken bricks from 1940

Tonight I am alone here

Waiting and watching

Searching for a flame



Nothing Really Mattress



Nothing matters but falling on a mattress with cheap dreams

and a beer

As leaves and horses die

Brisk sounds of jazz music

Pulled shades

Suns and shadows and explosions

A dripping sink and empty bottles

Half painted stairs

Youth fenced in - rent a boat

Grant us this moment standing before the mirror

Living on candy bars

Watching pigeons in a back alley with a British name

Horses dreaming of horses

Peanut butter

Peanut butter condors

California oranges in a paper suitcase

Four dollar rooms as warm as a cobra

We care about nothing

She laughs

Holding a joint high in the air with one hand

In bed together

Listening to the windows rattling as if melody had never been


The last window

The last pink sun with its arm around the world

We smoke and the clouds do not notice us

I feel the great mountain of her head

She is alive and is as far away as Scotland

I hear engines in the sky

Soon I will kiss her goodnight


To Let



I sit in a rented room in London

Surrounded by ambitious men with new automobiles and new blondes

Playing mozart in the afternoon, smoking cigarettes and drinking wine

I took a bath and went back to bed

Like eating cold plums at 3 A.M. while half the town is on fire

I walked passed drug stores in my shoes that do not care

I walked with a lost head

Holding my head like the hands of a child around a ball

I had teeth of ice with a taste of tar in my mouth

This was a stockbroker’s universe

High buildings next to higher buildings

Fences around other fences

The trains smelled of fish and chips and sadness

I close my eyes and think of anatomy books, dirty words and


Being Lost


I laugh, not out loud all up and down these streets for hours. Outside the midnight wind is blowing down this empty avenue. I’m still wearing the night from last night as it blows back to my face. there was something about that city, though

it didn’t let me feel guilty I had no feeling for the things so many others needed. It let me alone. Being lost, being crazy maybe is not so bad if you can be that way undisturbed. The city gave me that. nobody ever called my name. I’m sure a band will start to play somewhere.





An abandoned, foggy road

neon lights in a twilight’s eye

with no indication of a constellation

or an all night bar, I was marooned

beneath a burnt out old moon

The sirens echo in the streets beneath my window

All my dreams are chrome as I drift off

and throw them out the window to grow

in the night’s rain


Nowhere USA



No one seems to live in this town, old neon signs that half work and beat up pick up trucks with empty gun racks in the window parked in front of the local, wood paneled Union tavern smelling like old leather, grease and stale alcohol.

Dirty houses, dirty children, dirty clean laundry hanging out front caught in the fence. Half fixed, half broke cars on cylinder blocks just waiting for the weekend. Children staring, feeding garbage to pigeons, garbage in the street, the street at noon going on forever. Michigan or Pittsburgh I think, old man half sitting half leaning on a fire hydrant outside Lou’s Bar Miller High Life sign poorly throws bits of gold light onto a dial tone, khaki trench coat he used to wear when he had his sales job selling bubblegum. Around the corner a few kids and wait for some type of parade to come through town but it won’t, not here.


Working Class


This town is somewhere between somewhere and no where, Daisy Jackson with 10 kids and a dog called Pig all dressed in 10 different shades of plaid try to keep warm for the winter sitting out from on the stoop just waiting and watching, aint

nothing happening here, aint nothing gonna happen here. Mike the mechanic is holding a 6 month old with one tired leg on the ground and the other on the bumper of a mud stained oldsmobile in front of a makeshift cardboard shack with two steelworks boots flipped upside down near a

washing bench, his 12 year old daughter sneaks a glance from out of the dark doorway into the dull evening. These endless stairs of withering wood lead tired men down to that smokey furnace of hell at all hours, the only light in this town, just eating us to pieces, burning up these dreams

of a families freedom’s field to run in.

I see Jack’s dad sitting facing a wall with his shoes on the table and some scissors hanging on a nail. Tired and working man’s hands rest on his twill slacks, Probably living the life

for his family as best as he can in his mind.

This snow comes a fallen and a deer is toe up hangin’ from tree branches ready for cuttin’. Danny is leaning on boarded up fireplace in a dirty suit with a loosened fat tie bumping a

small painting of a buck in the snow with a dirty suit elbow, above that buck hangs a small wallet size photo with an ornate bronze frame of his mother He stands on a beat rug that is worn almost through the floor. In the middle of the room stands a furnace that goes into

the wall, pipes had been replaced and smoke stains on the wallpaper. Dan’s wife sits motionless on the single bed in the corner surrounded by a few random holes in the drywall and torn pictures that were there when they found the house. Her heels lie under the bed hiding from anything, they have been traded in. The expression on her face is like knives

telling not asking. Dashing Dan ain’t not dashing anymore, these are hard times that come fast and no one wants to feel like they are poor.

Ross’s junkyard repair and handyman phone number on a green cement shack with a rusted steel door reading a sign saying “We aint repairing repairs no more.” Closed, for rent, for sale, Shoe repair, steel mill working steel tip boots

with miles in their step and wars on the laces with hardened leather souls and scars on their faces.


The Youth



As I was younger growing up then not now, that one time I saw through all of its nothingness building to something, it was a celebration of something and everything not to do but

only to know.


The Bone Machine



Searching for the smoothest silk and scarlet hair;

The biggest cock of citron wood

every kind made man or wicked women of ivory,

Breasts like towers

Bronze beauty

Iron and marble thrones;

all tomorrow’s parties

raw sound that blast away mountains

excitement that eats the ground

all the joyful sounds that are banished from the earth

pure gold ecstasy

sun moon and star all bowing down to me

the fantasies of killers and sinners

the beauty of madness

blood from the altar of platinum priests

the first lamb and the finest flower

oil from a perfumer’s back

the summer sun of the gods and the cold moon of devils

black chrome and the black rider’s horse

a breath like apples

an Egyptian army beneath the pharoah’s house

The greed of your enemies

the never ending satisfaction of death


Slapped Like an Indian



The white siding lasted forever as did that road both blackened by semi trucks

The laundry was freshly baked with sulfur in the air from the furnaces

Watching, waiting for something that never came

it was watching us, it knew we had escaped and came back

This place would be grey forever

being covered in soot and slapped like an Indian


Our Children



We will have everything soon my dear

Everything and nothing

You can find it by yourself

Won’t you sit with me a while longer

while horses dream of other horses

While we await tomorrow

waiting for a summer in winter

waiting for her first step and our last

waiting for things to become old like the

flower basket or the mop on the porch

waiting to see our children grow up

and wait to see their children grow up

wait to see what we become

wait just as long as we can

wait to see if it ever happens

Wait with us just a little while longer

My dear we have it all and we have nothing

we have each other while we wait

we have tired eyes that have seen everything

We built everything we could out of nothing

We have done all we can

They will be like us

They must wait and see

They maybe will see what we saw

They have our eyes

They must love how we loved

They too must find everything in nothing

We no longer have to wait forever

We now have everything and nothing


The Black Chair



I sit in the dark of my porch looking out and listen to the wind

I drink something hard, anything

it burns my mouth and lips

which makes smoke taste better

I thought for a long time

looking at a folded wheelchair

and some plastic flowers

waiting for me

looking at me like a wet, dirty orphan

knowing we will be together soon

after they drill into my leg

you’ll wait a bit longer I thought

The black chair sits folded together as if it was smiling at me

I turn off the light leaving that monster in the dark

I go to sleep



High Ponytail & Hoop earrings



Bare-footed with huge hoop earrings

She seemed to like all the songs on the radio

She seemed to know all the songs on the radio

Each time I see her she looks better and better

A perfect body walks down the street as sun falls on flowers

She pulls her hair up and lets it drip onto her face

She lets her eyes look at my eyes

I have memorized her shoes

Wind-flipped skirt

High along her thighs

The day we went on a picnic

Half asleep in the afternoon of a church lawn

Sleeping with bodies like lemon trees or clouds

Laying locked like human vines

I have fallen into her and lost myself

Vanishing like an alarm clock in the Grand Canyon

Magic because she lies of nothing

Eyes like diamonds looking up to me

Hair lit by a 3 P.M. sun light

“Tell me you love me” she said

She is wild and kind

Makes me laugh

Blessed eyes running far and cool in her head

Falling through the sky is the best and worst

She has saved me from everything that is not here