do something that scares you
tell the story
sing the song

there is a thrill
to doing
as well as being

pursuing
and not just breathing

there is a time
to count your breaths
and your blessings
to let your thoughts
pass like a movie
on the screen
of your mind

but what if you never
actively visualized
yourself winning
the boxing match
the big award
the lover?

Dark clouds
Strong winds
Before the rain falls.

I sit upon my threshold
On a comfy pillow
So my boney butt won’t hurt.

Underneath cool silvery raindrops
Trees sway in high winds
As grey skies cast over me.

My knees are soaked
My feet are grounded
Rests on steps made of cinder blocks.

Wandering in a vacant lot
With all the turmoil of the world
Forever discomforting my mind,
I choose among the broken stones
One to kick and call my own.

I measure my steps to be in stride
To boot with the tip of my shoe -
I become a mischievous child
Who is saved from whiny boredom
To play with a new-found freedom.

How many times I punt it further
Bouncing about the cracked pavements
To where it will eventually land
Somewhere in a ditch or a furrow
And be abandoned for all tomorrow.

we learn to see
in ever more detail

once we were blind
but now we notice

the way even the rarest
chemicals react

the exact way she likes
her morning
coffee or tea

the way he responds
to every
different kind of touch

it is like God was
trying to teach us something

by creating the dinosaurs first
and then the lizards
millions of years later
if that's how it worked

the brain of the Cro Magnon man
and then the human counterpart

Amnesia is this pocket serum sacrament 
blown in darts by dawn from the waking saints 

now this sunrise split as perforate tissue,
this elision spilling as on a burnt canvas. I’ve
had my nonconsensual experiences

A creeping Gilman yellow, slow as subatomic
parcels, chutes lateral in jeweled stars

to dust the tongues of snowblowers
in the stagnant oasis of your Fargo home.

Life goes on, yeah, until it doesn’t any longer

Antibodies spun in fool's gold hold to
sugar angels arches; her steady rocking

Bare branches,
naked ground,
empty sky,
hollow water,
even the sun
is gone
most of the time.

How can I miss
the snowless winter
and long nights?

As soon as I think of you
you are there
in every sip of cold coffee
I feel your warm breath

My arms ache to hold you
soon you reach out
from flowers in my vase
whispering hello

I pick a rose stem
brushing it with my lips
it blooms with your aroma
one of its kind

I hear a knocking
from within my beating heart
surely yours saying
I'm here sweetheart

“THIS pack of cigarettes will be my LAST,”
I vowed, trying not to worry about the past --
When just rolling down the window in my blue Toyota
Made me long to light up and watch my “last pack” quota
Go up in smoke. Another seven dollars,
And hours off my life. I imagine a dog collar,
But frown, since I’m also the one holding the leash.
If I was an avid painter, I think that my pastiche
Would be something like Edvard Munch’s "The Scream".
The truth is I have not one, but two dreams.

As the torch of breath chills
betwixt fervour and stillness,
we seeth as time grows stale
yet, for a dark angel abide

Beacons lit at creation quiver
it's last fervour draws ichor,
O, lord of beasts spiral near
thy mane delights to a hair

Gliding darkness doubtlessly
sheathing limbs in tenebrosity,
yet the veil of twilight is worn
as devils spital gleams an heir

Alas, tomorrow will wilt away
as dew on a blades of dawn,
sheltered in the arms of grace
sorrow lastly ceases to dwell

few more lives in scrambled eggs
lie dead on breakfast plates
yolk and white blended as one
delighting umpteen taste buds

broken shells of healthy eggs
bereaved of their loved ones
wonder why they're only cared
as Easter eggs once a year