Is this what I’m left with?
This final destination
This pit in my gut
This aching at the base of my skull
Living in limbo
Wondering if the light will ever shine

Waiting for the axe to fall
To chop me into two distinct selves
The one you think I am
And the one who hides in darkness
Waiting for the end of everything
Created by my own necessity
Not knowing how to stop
To stop it from falling
Like an apple from a tree
Rotten to the core
This hidden me
Trying not to rise
It hisses and rattles
Venom and spit
It’s all that’s left
Of empty



How do you shrug off what you can’t remember? Do you just let it dissolve into someone else’s recollection?
As if there’s a memo
Evidence without a frame
Your last word a crime

A dish with out a spoon
A clattering key
A misshapen reality
A distracted song

The little dog sighs
At the cow’s benign lies
As beneath the moon
It moos


knot to dot

this poem is stuck in my
denying its
existence in
knotted threads I
unravel and pull then
sputter and
spit nonsensical
bile scattered
phrases that
refuse to

there are no dots


things I tell myself

nothing will be okay

everything will

stop breathing



but yeah . . . sometimes it inspires thought

what inspires thought

cessation of breathing

what’s wrong with you

you never ask the right question

I get lost

me too



Iffy Surreal Wordplay

If chaos wins its way with we
tomorrow’s chatter chimes,
resubmerging symphonies
might drown before our eyes.
And everything that ever was
will never be the same,
except the pounding sound of drums
that rage against the rain.


A Waiting Villanelle

Expecting the worst
Toxic traces of anxiety feed on me
This waiting feels cursed

Somewhere in the universe
A prerecorded destiny
Expecting the worst

Life in reverse
A parasitic mystery
This waiting feels cursed

Let my angst traverse
This ever sliding scree
Expecting the worst

This repeating verse
Will never set me free
This waiting feels cursed

This inclination to asperse
Echoes like a banshee
Expecting the worst
This waiting feels cursed


Fourteen Sad Lines

I don’t even know where I am half the time
Swirling through my own debris
Like a cyclone trying to correct itself
Every time I laugh, I feel surprised
Every time I cry, something in me knows
It’s okay to die
So I slow down my breathing
And take my time
It’s killing me

This Argentinian Malbec veil
Sops up sorrow like a sieve
Until I don’t remember anything
About who I used to be
I don’t even know where I am half the time


Amen, Sister!


Dreams of disintegrating teeth haunted my adolescence
then crumbled true a few weeks ago.
Well, only one tooth
powdered like the Buddha by Arlee.

Days dissolved into days.
My empty tooth ached for its missing pieces.
That tooth so integral to chewing
cringed at any bite.

And this morning?
After forty five pain free minutes
with a new fixer, a lady dentist, three years in—
I’m chewing again.


Crumbling Buddha


Act well without attachment to the fruits of your action.
                                                                    ~Bhagavad Gita


Uncertainty stretches and relaxes its fingers
moving between fear and choice.
Is everything a balancing act?
A walk on a tightrope?

Take that step and let go.

Open to life’s unfolding.
Weep at the beauty of snow geese rising.
Still yourself in the glory of being.

Trust impermanence like a crumbling Buddha.
Walk both dogs at once.
Rest in uncertainty.

This is what it means to be present.

Is anything more important?