Floating Bones.


, , ,

Weightless, in the water.
With a face that’s pointed skyward.
Through my eyes, skate bright stars,
In black night.

All behind
Silhouettes of tall pines
White ships of crisp clouds, surround
And outline.

Mind silent; without a sound.
My body.
My bones.

Breathed air, out.
Sinking slowly, towards the ground,
I spiral about
turning around.

Eyes open, in the moistness.
Seeing shadings,
Refracted light behavings
White wall: wavering.

Settle on the bottom,
In a state, where
All has left me,
For as long as I can rest,



All of us are each of these.



For all of my friends,
With the best of intentions
Who stand steady upon their ground
But are smashed by wreck less:

I see who you are
I respect what you do
Staying steady with your heart
Intensively pushing through.

And for those others of you:

Those so quick to make a promise,
With future not in view.
Brittle and binding words are not harmless,
Time is not so sound and true.

Weigh words with heavy hands
Request politely
Don’t make demands
Adjust to others
And make amends
Live in the moment
It never Ends.

Forever unfolding

It may hurt to know that growth occurs, at first, but when the bubbles burst, what hurts worse are the words that were curved to avert the spurt and render it inert.




Pressed words
And made shapes

With space
Landscapes of taste






Make haste
Replace a syllable
While still able to
Keep pace

Add nouns
And Announce
Pronounced Sounds,
Properly annunciate

That’s Proper Annunciation

Perhaps Perfect
With Professional Punctuation

Loving to Learn Language.




Deep gasps
Filled with toxic gases
Exasperated and fuming
Carbon masses

Human self consuming
Filled with lactic acid
Dead but breath resuming
The galactic entrapment

Full floral blossoms blooming
A stressed life enacted
Bottom to brim and baby booming
Smashed steering wheels in traffic

We co inhabit with
The varied sorts of humans
Theatrical and dramatic
All Battling life’s bad habits

Too much of one thing
Heart beats and souls exuding

Cancerous pancreatic
Vetoed and void voting

The carnivorous patriotic
Euphoric and melancholy.

Judgment Call.


, ,

I lay poolside. My mind floating through a stream of incoherent thought, body basking in the hot “Hello” of Sunshine, content and incapacitated. Eagerly devouring waves of skin-searing orange light. Obscenely serene and completely


The iron clang of a misaligned pool gate sounded alarm.

I opened watery eyes and slowly re-assembled a puzzled mind. When the earth and my brain had decided to re-align, I found myself hazily glaring at two young men, about equal in age, the sum of which being perhaps fifty.

In the best scenario, they are each a quarter way through life. That is…if they wish to live to one hundred. If not, well, the best scenario would be for the young man on the left to trip over the loose shoelace of the young man on the right, and for them to careen into each other’s skulls, smashing their internal processors to bits, and perhaps both fall into the pool, unconscious. This did not happen. Not while I was present, at least.

The two young men, each with another 75 years of life ahead of them, strolled through the gate, exuding confidence. The gentleman on the left was quite good looking. I know this because I recall thinking, “Oh, good for him. He is quite good looking.” While the gentleman on the right appeared meager, having less behind than a broomstick. Not that it is anything for me to frown upon. I too, have less behind than a broomstick.

​To return to the fellow on the left, he appeared highly courageous, strutting, and sporting an armless shirt. This is not to proclaim that he, too, was armless. He had arms. One of which was toting some fancy sort of beer, likely to have been purchased atop some sky-shattering Colorado mountain peak, where cave-dwelling bearded men, of flannel coated skin, bottle and brew the uppity concoction. As I observed, in high judgment, clearly, he took a swallow of his ale and resumed to pull a chair to a shaded area, and rest his legs. His friend followed suite.
To my relief, he too, possessed the ability to bend his oddly elongated back at a 90 degree angle, curving at just about the same point where individuals with behinds tend to bend. Both men achieved sitting stance, flawlessly.
“Unremarkable.”- I again closed my eyes.

I opened my eyes, some time later, (there is really no telling just what time, only that it must have been later, because when closing my eyes I was clean and pristine, and upon re-emergence, I was sweat-soaked and dry-mouthed) and resumed focus upon these two characters; they had shifted slightly to an area of sunshine. Tanning, perhaps. Though, Sleeve-less remained shirted, while Broomstick remained shirt-less (and butt-less). I noticed a theme developing, vaguely. Broomstick was bejeweled with piercings and bedazzled with tattoos, and was content to show them off, as would I, were I walking artistry. Where Sleeveless had naturally occurring good looks, Broomstick had supplemented décor, which look good. Broomstick also had a beer, of lower quality (both lower in altitude and construction) and they were passing back and forth what appeared to be marijuana. A great build up. Potential climax. The loosening of one’s self before the release.
Broomstick levitated from has chair, all glimmering earrings and taboo tattoos. Clearly relaxed, he swept his way from stool to pool, ever so slightly submerging his feet. With purposeful curiosity, Sleeveless also cantered his way to the watering hole, no sooner than arriving, Sleeveless was shirtless and submerged, swimming and smiling.

“Oh! Such glee! Such childlike whimsy!” I remarked to myself, not even slightly cynical.

I relish this sort of behavior. Too many of us lose our tendency for tenacity, our childlike charisma and charm. I must mention that I was excessively surprised, due do the frigid temperature of the pool, it was breathtaking, and Sleeveless had half-hazardly hurried towards his own shriveling destruction. So quickly that he seemed to me, a blur.
I bent my neck to resume presumption. Sleeveless was presently giggling and gallivanting about the pool, whilst Broomstick remained poolside, appearing to have a broomstick up his Broomstick.

“What could be preventing Broomstick from such ecstatic euphoria?” I asked, never expecting such a definitive reply.

I ached for Broomstick to join his friend, and he must have felt my silent yearning, because he slowly edged himself to sea, like a sailor, wading through waves of sewage. With chin held high, and neck tensed, he made his way to Sleeveless.

“Ohhhhh!” I exclaimed, perhaps aloud.

Catching my automated response system in mid-fire, I resumed thought to myself, noting,

“He is actively preserving his intrepid hair cut”.

I hadn’t noticed until this point, but Broomstick had a slick doo! Painted the color of Autumn’s auburn, streaked with golden sunlight, he had what looked to be a head-full of Fall’s foliage. Imparted partially through with a part, smoothed to his brow, arching slightly left, alike a leaf , who’s purpose was to shade his eyes from the harsh rays of daylight. I couldn’t blame him. Such effort; such exertion, surely submersion is not worthy of throwing aesthetics to the wayside.

And yet, I was again taken aback.

Perhaps feeling overloaded with a zest for life, Broomstick went limp, allowing his knees to buckle and bring him below see-level. No longer in sight, I observed what was only a shadow of Broomstick, looming weightlessly through the water; he came up slowly with eyes averted downwards, reminding me of Narcissus gazing at himself in the reflection of the liquid.
Here, I noticed an odd occurrence, when glancing towards Sleeveless, I was surprised to see him partially beached, seemingly catering to a wound.

“What has happened?!” I inquired of the inhabitants of my own mind, “Sleeveless has been harmed, and in my observance of his ridged friend, Sleeveless has gone slack!”

With deeper inspection I found no blood, no life threatening bend to the neck…nothing. Sleeveless was simply slouching inward, appearing to be some sort of imploding star, whose gravity has proven too capable, and is currently caving in upon itself. As I gawked, mystified, Sleeveless jumped from the water and hurriedly put his shirt over (what he was treating as) his mangled man-body.

“A shame.” I said. “Sleeveless is only proud of his arms, and treats the rest of his un-sculpted body as though it is some sort of goiter, protruding from his more scrupulous endowments.”

Once again following suit, Broomstick rushed his last dive, darting to-and-fro underwater, and in his haste, emerged with his face skyward, resulting in the back-slicking of his once forward-facing hairline.

What came from the depths of that body of water, took me with such force that I cringed in horror. Here, freshly rinsed and ruffled, stood a man who looked as horrified as I felt. All varicose veins and sinew, Broomstick appeared to be victim of a facelift tied too tight. With teeth bared, tendons as taught as bridge-cables, and hair slicked back to reveal a shiny dome, well on its way to being completely bald, Broomstick looked as though he had lived a hundred years and more.

“What sort of sea-creature has replaced this young and decorated spirit?!” cried the inner observer.

He quickly regained himself, instinctively realizing his mistake, and scrambled for composure. Broomstick’s fingertips raced towards his nest, faster than a mother hen, and equally as frantic. Pecking and darting, all awkward arms and failing fingers, he re-pieced his hairline motif, matting down what once was elegantly molded. With the body of a cleaning utensil and the scalp of a century old man, broomstick sadly shuddered his way towards the steps, surely never to swim again.

Both sulking and disheartened, they skirted away, neither a butt nor a sleeve between them.

From Diamond
To Cole
How Beautiful
The Young Men
Of Old.




In Love with words…
Astounding sounds
Reiterating reverb in literary fashion
Heart-felt and vibrating
Echoes, chaotically colliding
Through the hallways and down brainstems
Understanding, birthed through simple resonance
Vocal Chords creating catacombs of metronomes
Inflection, inspiring respect, or the lack thereof
A stale face, exuding melody of freshest taste
One may be fooled by attempted-kept-cool
But in attuning to a mood, soothed
We exude that smooth tune.
And when Another’s calm quivers
We resolve qualm, quicker.

Use Your Words.
You’re Words.

Eloquent Destruction.


, ,

She thought about the routine, as she took another slow pull, followed by another long drag. It had been 3 years now. Not long by basic measure. But, reflecting on the endless nights of spinning ceilings and tilted tabletops, created a feeling of deepest sorrow. The same deep sorrow that sent her lips back to the rim for another kiss. The taste was bitter, as were the emotions that stewed inside of her; stagnating like a river removed from it’s source.

Molly was never tempted to drink, while Marcus possessed a heartbeat. Unfortunately, with his life, went the zest for her own.

​Marcus was a fucking lowlife; Marcus made Molly feel like a queen.

She didn’t understand why she was so dysfunctional.
Where other people worked in circles, Molly ran squares.


In Sight of The Self.



All being open and free to float
An aspect of a self in the reflection of another
Fuel smothered covers,
alit and aflame
Leaving lonely bodies crooked,
melting, unnamed
Forces unknown to owners,
but torch and torched,
the same
Battling the left
as well as the right brain
seeking a common link in the chain
But each to each other seeming
opaque, grey and deranged
Glancing, with eyes crossed,
The left peering into the right
Endless loopholes of fore and hind

Affecting Effection.



And in this Dusk
Dark Swells Over-whelm
Dissolving all to Dust
At helm towards nether-realm

Riding waves of on-set rage
Drop of dime and turn of page

Look no longer
towards an eye
Fear of revival and deep-set sigh

Turning, lonesome
towards smiling face
Mouth creased and worry some
reset my grace
You’ve changed to light
What was once
but brutal black space.