Poetry · Writing

Missing Breakfast


just a dream but I can feel it

in my bones

the birds chirping

let my arms rest easy on my side

church bells ringing

every tick on the clocks hands,

my mind throws a party.

Weaving thus pen between the lines

still can’t read

still I feed

and I’m still hungry;

hungry for the night that’s not stolen by the goblins-

hungry for a story like a lost bear walking with Christopher Robbins-

just not as lost anymore-

still hungry,

for you.


When breakfast is over,

I’ll be in line for lunch.

Poetry · Writing

100 Grandkids

Living in the future

scary as the devil

mom said she wanted grandkids-

but the fear grips my feet

gonna mess that up

drop em on its head and brake dance

living in that cardboard box

now I know I’m not shit.

Couldn’t promise that she would get them

I know she would spoil them

can’t be all bad, until then

watch the flames from this rooftop.


we ain’t goin’ nowhere

we ain’t goin’ nowhere


I know, my life would change,

just need a hundred grand

life will be grand

just seems like a dream

waking up with night sweats

pockets empty still

just a dream with dead presidents

leave this place and all the residents

watch the flames from the rooftop.

Poetry · Writing

An Old Trophy

Knowing someone doesn’t need you

is like lukewarm water.

Can’t help the wrinkles in my face

can do this on your own

make the world your bitch

and I will cheer

from the front row

number one fan t-shirt

maybe a hot dog.

Yet, if they can do it all,

why am I, around?

The funny friend who dances

sings and reminds them

they had a past.

Like an empty box-

it was once something,

maybe you did at one point

but now- on a shelf collecting dust

(your dust) – an old trophy.

But I’ll ignore it-

have lunch like normal

smile at pictures of your cat

and I’ll cheer you on

as you save the world.

Poetry · Writing

The Boy Wonder

Bringing peace

t-shirts and wristbands it’s a move since 02.

That’s when we met-

cold nights and warm cherries

found them towards the bottom,

bottoms up nothing but up bottoms up.


Miles high and we chatting on the walkie

and we walkin’ and talkin’

catchin’ our footing walking the rope

the boy wonder

and hunting bats.


Fallin’ off;-


don’t remember the hole in floor

the bottomless pit and weightless shoes


the deafening colorless silence.

Poetry · Writing

New City

The side of train tracks

wasted away- clock always on guard

the cherry shrubs and the new 2019 Ford

(great for the environment)

in a pinned stripe suit and tie, rushing off

what time is it

the train zoomed past

that time

a suit case and a letter

do better it said-

four pages and eight-four

period but that was the point.

I think it’s a lawnmower going off

or loud sex-

on his feet- down a shoe – New City is close

in all the magazine mom used to read

find wealth and fame

with a girl with cans the size of watermelons.

Fords are popular in this community.

And pinned stripe suits.

and lawnmowers

or loud sex.

New City- a fresh pair of shoes

and watermelons.

Poetry · Writing

Truth in Distance

You only truly know. When you’re away.

The subbtle grace of her fingers wraped around

my nape and brushes it with a tender flex.

A craving quenched when breathing the same-

It’ll climb, her grasp, the tip of my person,

finding the purpose of my existence as she

waves her fingers through my hair

like a fairy.

Satisfaction found through your presence,

eyes stick me like a dagger and I trouble to meet-

scared you’ll find the truth with your glare.


Knowledge seeker and heart thief on your id

didn’t check it at the door or I would have known,

caught with my pants down. Found the truth

in mile away-

wanderer, the message behind every post

and lamp that each second becomes heavier.

You’ll laugh, say I’m silly, but you know.

Playing it safe and answering with hey,

just one y, don’t want you to think I’m crazy.

What did I do today? Wasn’t thinking about you all day,

at least by your records.


A solace or a wish, through the winter and the day

you’ll find me awaiting your time-

awaiting your seeking eyes

time will catch up to me

for you’ll know the truth

through my eyes or my lips

that I’ll cement myself down

and never leave your tender heart.

Poetry · Writing


Will, you, stay,

just a little while, babe?

Wait a minute

all this second guessin’ blink and your are all I’m missin’

wishin’ just for a second,

your love feels like a weapon ,

keep all that hesitation abrogation

it’s time to see the world leave at the station

drinking wine from a mason


Will, you, stay,

just a little while, babe?

Just a little while

and I’ll be eating from your palm

keep you close right here on my arm

fly you to Japan where the Earth is soft

Disney World and a little Robert Frost-

and if it’s the end know we saw it all

you say you say you say

I’d known it all along,

the big one heard it all and came to claim it all


Will, you,-

Poetry · Writing

Remembering How To Walk

Some days you’re just feelin’ it

makin’ moves swearin’ to god you’re just killin’ it


and you crash and you’re just swearin’ to god.

He’ll give it and take it away

candy from a baby learning how to walk

I’m tellin’ you this not to downplay

that nothing is a lock

matter of a fact it’s a fact that will all be attacked

sacked in the endzone and it’ll slow down.


Waiting in a quiet room

lady down the hall with a broom

I’ll just see me in the reflection

sweepin’ it all under the rug

and I’ll remember-

when I learned how to walk

a god among men with roses at my toes

a standing O and they’re all waiting for an encore

but they’ll have to wait-


time isn’t right until the night and the fight fall my way

and it’ll be a fine day just me and my girl some might say

I’ve never seen that look before calling it the sweep you off your feet feeling

and dealing nothin’ but twenty ones but all I need is this ten

the eleven was finding my feet.

Poetry · Writing

The Voice in our Ear

The fallen watch closely

yet, mostly, they crowd our ear

words to tendered tears and flashes of fear

but when things get real

baby will split those fears

never alone

sitting together on our throne

but they still whisper.

Elusive to our eyes

and beating like our hearts

a workshop reminding us-

they path they walked

a how to guide of life

literature for months-


and we’re sorry in advance;

the present you gave us-

a map of a chosen path,

we’re not going to read this.

Map already filled with forks

already chosen. We’ll heed

but never follow.

Will make mistakes

but they’ll be ours

will make a right before a left

and it might be wrong

but it’ll be our right.


Will remember you-

flowers in hand

a loving kiss on stone

with grass in our fingers.

Will leave your map with you-

we know what you’re doing-

crossing out the mistakes you made

in the next life

but the crosses you made

were the crosses that made you.

Will sit here and sing-

and you hear with us,

singing in our ear.