I built the structure

of a day

with blocks of thought

upon a base of time

but winds of fear

keep blowing them away

till the day is empty

then it’s gone


A portrait

of inconsistent


hangs in an abandoned hallway

that leads to the dusty closet

where the inevitable

but pointless purposes

are stored and forgotten



The weight of words

hangs on my shoulders

as I walk crooked

up the wandering path

towards your question eyes

when I speak you shift attention

from the wavering center

of your universe

to test the rumbling chasm

between us

at the edge of my perception

I launch a single sailboat word

into the whispering water

and the gentle wind blows it

into the range of your touch

we are connected


Casual killers

Casual killers lounge

in the nursery of dreams

angelic ambition stabbed

with the scalpel of reality

a good natured jest

as the blood of innocent ideas

drips on the floor

it’s for your own good

he smiles taking a break

from stuffing misfits

into neat boxes of same

high low high low

its on and on we go

Sleep for a century

I could sleep for a century

and wake up at noon

I could go to bed in April

and wake up in June

I haven’t felt good

for at least three years

I’ve had a lot of fars

and not many nears

I want to change everything

but I cannot change

all I can do

is a small rearrange

too much cloud and rain

and not enough sun

every step is uphill

and not much fun



One day I fell off the moon

and landed in the state

of uncertainty

I had been living

with the eye of information

but it was too far from indulgence

the way back was a sudden

sleepy moment

now I’m learning the language

of illusion

but I keep looking for the facts


There is a connection

between a dot of attention

on the page of today

and the hopping black crow’s

faith in sunrise

as the dots connect 

to draw a circle

back to the beginning