The air is malleable - stiff

and barely yielding

Keep watch for your opening-


What’s to explain?
the Quiet is what feeds me,
the Silence is what speaks.



Throw down your dreams, my beloved

Throw down your sword,

your thoughts wet with my tears


For I am an angry constellation

I speak in tongue - an unbearable language -

You will know I am near by the bleeding from your ears




Come back to work for a month, they said -

promising me you;

I went to work and took no pay,

wanting nothing but you.


Three years later they tried the same -

promising me pay;

I smashed my phone and turned off the world….

I was still waiting for you.


Call of Duty

Your mind is up for auction…..

(Yeah - yours, too.)

*What- you think a 2-sentence story is easy??

"Steel" [or, better known to me as: true story]



With the first meeting there was a crack: ocean averted….

*Thank you, Christine Norris and Press 53!


London by Sergio Larrain. 1959


London by Sergio Larrain. 1959

(via misguidedfadingecho)


So for Valentine’s Day, I got a great gift: Dead Beats Lit Blog requested Petrarchan (yeah I had to look that up) sonnets for the oh-so-special day.  They picked three.

I’m feeling all loved and everything.

I Am Only One Blanket

Oh look. I made the news. (NO, not the weekend arrest reports, either, thanks).  Although I am under 2 lovely poems about ‘butts’   -_-

(I always knew I would make it ‘big’ -ha- someday)

AND - Make sure you click on the link to David Tomaloff’s piece that inspired my title.  It’s positively ‘dreamy’.  Yum.

Starry Thing

Wicked black falls into a soup of stirred regret I keep forgetting…we’re not in love anymore and something steals that edge from my voice when I would whisper but it could still cut through days and nights of not hearing, believing only in the jewels of water falling from bone above.

Filthy floor thought they belonged to it, can’t you see me scrambling - you’re amused now - shuffling forward, back, sideways, and a different kind of angle for every drop threatening, fiercely for every one falling.

I grew tired, and left some for the morphined dust.

Letting my eyes roam…beyond the doorway dripping with apologies… there - there! - was a constellation.  I shut my eyes, remembering I don’t believe in any non-watery thing.  Starry thing paid no mind, dripping its music into my nose and pores as if sound is our only sense.

*This was my first sorta-prose piece published.  Lynne Alexander and take-it-to-the-street-poetry; check em out here:

They do good works :)