You built your city upon a whim.

And long your city stood.

And long your obedient subjects served their capricious queen

with bent knees and bowed heads

and humble hearts.


one day

you tore your city down

revealing the truth:


thought built of stone

were made of feathers.

Your temple

all those long years

balanced upon nothing more

than dust.


after sifting through the rubble of your kingdom

of our past

we see

that which was always there…



in this barren space

we must decide what to do.

So, tell me,

what are we to do

in the aftermath

of you?

Moonlight Message to You

Let no one’s will eclipse your spirit

If one should dare to tread upon you

Let there be war, and do not fear it

Know the red fire burns within you too


If one should dare to tread upon you

Arm yourself with Artemis’s bow

Know the red fire burns within you too

You are a warrior; hunt down your foe


Arm yourself with Artemis’s bow

Protect yourself with fury’s strong shield

You are a warrior; hunt down your foe

To no one’s will shall you ever yield


Protect yourself with fury’s strong shield

Gather the strength of this crimson moon

To no one’s will shall you ever yield

Know, your time to reign is coming soon


Gather the strength of this crimson moon

Let no one’s will eclipse your spirit

Know, your time to reign is coming soon

Let there be war and do not fear it

Death in Ten Minutes

“I will die in ten minutes,” she said.

Dead fish eyes –



pulled tight, like a plastic doll.


she corrected herself,

“I died this morning.”

“No, no,”

I replied.


“You are not dead

because I am not dead.

Here I am


sitting with you


in the sunlight.”

“Well then, get a priest.

He can save me…and you.”

And I thought-

you’re dead


in Hell

and I’m alive-at least I’m fairly certain I’m alive-


in life.

Fuck getting a priest.

Fuck this.

I’ll save my strength.

Here-this Hell- Life- Limbo

Your hereafter

My moment

Is it really all that bad?

Just sitting here-



in the sunlight


and alive?

I guess it’s all just a matter of perspective.

It’s always been just a matter of perspective.

“Happy Birthday,” I said as I took my leave

the bitter sting of irony

and sadness

assuring me that I was correct.

I was not dead.

I was very much alive.

Dark Morning

Good morning, dark morning

before the sunrise

before she awakes

to light darkened skies

I breath in your silence

I bask in your peace

No call of the sirens-

the world’s still asleep

So here

in the dark

in the quiet

after night

I sit

and I work

in dark morning

in her peace

without light.


Of course, the raven and use of the word nevermore directly allude to the great Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “The Raven.”   

Why must you cast me as Poe’s raven

perched above your door

whispering, whispering,




Your willful disregard

for the feelings

of the bearer of bad news

shows a lack of love

for she who must play a role

she does not choose.


Dear Sir, I do not wish to say again

that which I have said before-

all that you desire…




For this little bird

is not obliged to stay.

Once more,

choose not to heed her,

and she will fly away.

Forevermore, forevermore

Never again to say,



Poets and Whores

I was a virgin until I was twenty-four.

How I wish I were a whore-

as I would have been called by the one who reared me.


Back then I was of the belief

that carnal pleasures would bring me grief-

for I would incur the wrath

of a god created

by a religion

for which I never fully subscribed.


But I see now.  I see

that we were not meant to be


Saints belong to heaven.

Earth is for God

and mortals.


And on earth there must also be

love and kindness and decency-

and all those things that have nothing to do with

doctrine and dogma and institutions

institutes, expectations, traditions,

teams and clubs

all those things

which the good people of this world



This place

this life

is for those who are brave enough to be free

of the tedious monotony

of fitting in

of bridling the spirit

and crushing the soul.


Here’s to the poets, the misfits, the lovers, the brave

the fearless who live this life with compassion and God

and know–

when the world becomes as small as the crate you’ll be buried in,

you’re as good as dead.

Dreams and Beasts



like warm air,


and hover overhead

until black winged beasts

chase them

into charcoal


where the only light

is the sickening yellow glare

of a setting sun.

If only this poor prey

were made

of heavier matter



they could race the beast

back down

to the safe embrace

of their creator.

Rotten Day

Bad day

Of my own choosing

My own choices

My own rotten thoughts

My anger

My fear

All that is mine alone

This day was all mine.


During that fleeting moment

when the sun did shine

I took little notice

except to realize

how dark darkness can be

when juxtaposed with light.


Fix us a drink love

and sit with me.

Perhaps tonight

we can save this rotten day.