Today we sat on the grass by the lake

Watched boats tugging tubes

The tree hung lazily in front of our eyes

And for a moment I was lost

Because it was better than a book or a story

I witnessed life without fear

I don’t know that I felt anything

Just alive

I would have stayed longer

But there was work to be done



I’m afraid of the hand that writes

Because I share what’s inside

My guts spill out for strangers

And I have nothing but rawness

No elegance or skill belongs to me

I’ll explode if I don’t express myself

Why do I feel like apologizing

For taking up your time

The Muse

Will I progress with the pen that writes?

Or will I simply stay here

Yearning to share ideas with words that inflict feelings on others

I know that there is a greater presence inside of me

But learning to release it in verse proves to be a challenge

I hope that I am growing, expanding my vocabulary with ingenuity

In my ignorance I do not take insights from examples

Instead I pass over my work and stroke my ego

Fantasizing of my fame when they finally see my genius

When will I let go of my need to impress, and simply express?

Some nights it comes freely to me without pain

But many others I am forcing the muse to expose herself

I poke and prod her into submission

And create faulty paragraphs of sludge that is unworthy

The blockage in my head is infuriating

So I push and I push until the page is filled with static

An unregulated mixture of keystrokes that amounts to nothing

Yet there is worth in it’s defectiveness

Because after the mud is forced out of my hands

I come to a place finally where my thoughts come freely

And a rush of satisfaction passes over me as the muse finally awakens


The motherfucker

Aims at my chest

A jet black revolver

Designed for death


I duck behind my car

Fear locking me in place

I don’t know this asshole

But he means to do harm


As he walks around the front

I pull a knife out of my belt

And stalk him around the rear

Moving swiftly, silently


I stab him in the neck

Once, twice, thrice

He does not drop his gun

Instead he turns around at me


He laughs, hand on his wounds

And proceeds to blast into me

Bullets tear through my waist

And finally into my brains


I stare at the light green wall of my room

These thoughts will not go away

It’s three in the morning now

My imagination will not let me sleep


So I pick up my laptop

I write poems and stories

And in those moments

I am free from terror

Listenin’ to music and writin’ poetry

Every day you try to test me, yeah

Look what you’ve done to me, oh

How far you pushed the limits.


I’m cleaner now, just to tease you, yeah

Pieces are coming together now, oh

Did I tell you I’m a dreamer.


You gave me my frantic moods

House felt so empty like a tomb, yeah

Had me on my knees prayin for houses and cars

Got me losin my mind side to side, oh

My demons got me in trouble


I been here all night and day, yeah,

Grindin and runnin, Oh

Man I’m flying.


Makin deals with the devil, yeah

Well you know that’s over now, oh

God lift me up high.


A collection of dust sits on the trigger,

every now and again I wipe it clean.

But never do I ignite the firing pin.

As time passes, the shell will become brittle

and sometimes I wonder if the gunpowder was never there in the first place.

I’ve fired the gun before,

always with knees trembling and beads of sweat on my forehead.

Every once in awhile I hit the target,

most of the time I hit the sandy banks behind.

As notions pass through my skull the time is coming closer,

For me to hold my breathe and pull that trigger.



Disclaimer because I’m a paranoid nutcase: this is a metaphor about chasing my dreams. Not actually about shooting a gun.

A strange poem

Swallow the pain deep down in your chest,

Push all of that sorrow into the fatty pockets of your heart

Where it spreads the poison into your veins.

Crying out is futile, don’t you know that?

When the mule will carry the load, what will you be doing?

You will be the animal too, you of little strength.

They will laugh at you and cringe at your efforts

Have you not learned your place in this world?


Woe to you, I respond, listen to my words once and forever;


Hark, you of little faith and persistence

Hear me when I say that you shall not give in

Do you not know your own power? Do you have no reason?

Take off the dirty glasses that shadow your face

And see the fruits that the earth has offered you

Taste their sweetness and reflect on your time here.

For what man does not look forward to the meat

That the prison guard offers once a month?


The road will be entangled with a great sadness and apathy,

Yes even your own gut will cry out “give me release!”

Let go of the notion of better and of goodness and joy

Put your feet on the ground and walk the path

Use what meager means are yours to open your heart,

So that you may set a place at the table for your brothers

Let the flesh be flayed, and turn the other cheek

Know that for a time, your name will hold value