Poetry · Writing


I have to write.

I stare at this blank page

and it stares back

taunts me.

It feeds off me

like a leech it

feast on my fears for breakfast

and sips my anxiety like tea.

Never satisfied

until I write.

So here I sit

Staring through this open window

waiting for the magic.

From a home I can’t explain

neighbor of imagination

down the block from love

Or is it hate.

Next to the house that always cooks barbecue.

That smell that sweeps the block

through open windows

love hate relationship with your belly

as it fights for something more.

Yet, here I sit

waiting for the magic.

Watching this orange fuck

slowly crush our stars

gathering Universal’s Minions

calling himself Gru

wasting on a par 4

stealing candy from unborn babies

from the home that he

is burning to the ground.

Closing our window

after only a few months



Need to-

Look for the magic.

Gather fingertips

the window is still open


Don’t fly

We still have to fight.


Here I stand.


silent page.

Starting at the open window.

Needing to make humans think

think twice

and tell them a lie

that this window

Will always be open.

Poetry · Writing

the day before yesterday

Planning for the future

with a hammer

and a couple nails.

It’s a joke

I know

but it’s the truth.

The nails are a bit rusted

felt like I should mention that.

Bent too.

Head to Home Depot

to have your card rejected

but find a two by four

on the way home.


Buddy said she had

some parts for me,

pity screw.

Looking up already,

call it a note worthy day.


Poetry · Writing


The black panther lives in the rainforest.

This is the home of Faith.

The promising work of a florist.

Home forever even as a wraith.


Enchanting the world with sunny kisses.

Always with you like a reprise.

True nature’s cheery missus.

In spring time, love is carried on the breeze.


Her beauty undeniable by all.

All wanted to see what she could achieve.

Impossible to foresee thee befall.

This panther bows as she takes her leave.


All panthers ache and weep.

Rest now in your beauty sleep.


Poetry · Writing

Thoughts From A Balcony

What the fuck is time~


find me on the next flight out

couldn’t wait a second longer

the night would only make me smaller

what if I’m gone, what the fuck you gon’ think then?

It’s all just dreams, but feels like a reality,

no destination, flying high and landing in a place more homey

miss my honey, stopped to see her

but just for a little had to catch my flight.


Taking shots and fighting the likes

makin’ more then I’d plan and they’ll kiss my ass to get a piece.

They all here while the lights on,

the nights are just as quiet as ever

chasing the stragglers away with a bloody rewrite.

It’d better be worth it

strong here and no abortion

filling out these titles not extortion

I’m still here just not on the surface.

Poetry · Writing

Knock Knock

so just let me in, let me in


five stars at the holiday inn

it’s twelve and time for a nooner

call it a midday win-


has been living in deerskin

screamin’ its a wolf

shut ya mouth

bring it closer

creepin’ so low

the wolf won’t smell us.


so let em in- let em in;

it six in the evening, had dinner twice

plates on the kitchen counter still full

deserts already served.



Poetry · Writing

Hurt Feelings

I’m always sayin’ I won’t change but

I ain’t the same


everything is different,

and it’s for the best. Movin’ up and down

through the city, makin’ moves

fuse defused

walkin’ in my shoes.

Heavy isn’t it?

Can’t pick up the phone

it’s to heavy, wait until quarter till

and drop the call.

Not even a hint of regret

it’s the cold that gives me pause,

and the hint of your paws

that drops my jaw.


But is it enough-

I can’t complain,

don’t know what you’re missin’

shame on you-

another ones trash

is another ones treasure,

momma said that once

and I keep hittin’ that thrift store

shop till ya drop

and I’ll give

when I wasn’t asked-

that’s on me

Poetry · Writing


I don’t need to lie no more

Nowadays all I do is shine, take a breathe and ease my mind.


It’s funny to look back-

been living there for a while,

the road was stunted, never had a way out.

Could have said no, and I never would have ended up here.


Normal life, normal job, normal wife

nothing wrong with that-

just a laugh thinking what it was and

who I was, and I’m far from normal.


The desert groomed me, treated me

left bruises- hidden deep and deeper

ocean wishes it was this deep

and this is wild


wonder who is wearing those old shoes-

those idle barring fools.

A time I would be envious

was a jeep driving Seven


and now- I’m chasing your dreams.

The one on the painted glass-

but it was your sight

that give me my foresight


It ain’t 2009 no more

Yeah, I know what’s behind that door

Poetry · Writing


Feel like I do this in my sleep

Literally, I do this in my sleep


Chef is still at the palace,

home cookin’

she is awaitin’ her meal,

sweet savory

just a princess,

a princess and she’s becoming a Queen today,

fresh livin’.


They’ll write about who she was

and tell stories of who she is

and I’ll let you know how close they are.