Life Synchronous

Marmoset captain, visage powerfully scarred,
Visits the Moon Loon, his master’s brooding sea bard.
Crystal laughter across the faded shores
Stands mocking the Moth King in the face of his hordes

Vicious sunrise, open parcels of dawn,
She stopped a runaway train
Silken weavers of war
Bending fragments of lime
Memories in time

Fading from mind
Faeries laying in green clovers
Leprechauns  braiding roots in her hair
Dreams are frightfully cast
On the King’s bed of glass


Ivory moss is thick like water

A man pulls a curtain and steps
To the velvet portico

Purple clouds are masked in armor

Cedar woods are lightly freezing

A hooded swan reveals his covered head
Draws calculus inside a pond
With the soft beat

of his heart

Amelia Earheart

Proud walk skinny with stained bodies
Observing reptilian sun
Don’t go away, don’t go away

Dirty mail sunk with Amelia
Scars on skin depict
100 year wars,
divine architecture,
and angels,
Don’t go away, don’t go away

Bodies of rising water
From mist to ice defined
The memory of this life
Lines to an unknown play

Don’t go away, don’t go away, don’t go away.

Ecstasy or Pain

Will you be sincere 

Whispering into the juice box (jukebox) scared

The music, after all the lights are turned out for the day, still plays for ghostly spirits past midnight once a perverted chill takes hold of the concrete.

In the Pacific North-West a lone trail rolls through forest bending into Klamath hill. 

An orange light betokens a cabin abandoned between the trees. And quiet you can hear Alan Vega from an uknown source, some speaker cracking in the dark. 

Only one hears the voices inside ones’ head

I may rise from the dust 

Sipping on juice box innocent, just a boy

Or someone else.

Am I queer to dance? Or expressing all boundaries of human soul? Is it still of me to question if I am man, or woman?

What do I do?

Whose name is moaned from my lips in ecstasy or pain?


You will see angry men, sensitive and insecure. Take off your angry sunglasses! Or an old lady reaching for French bread pizzas in the frozen section. 

“Where is my past of mounding dough down some stone canal in France?” A woman – Lone. “Where are my memories? Don’t you get them anymore?”

With dirty eyes peeking from a barred pharmacy window facing the street.

An escape from noise – To watch you 

Take off your wig on the cobblestone…

“Sure let’s crack it open, eh?”

Separating yourself from the identity that your family has only recently learned to love – and around the corner your running…

And old men shoot the enemy as they stumble away, down some railroad tracks in Prague, Manhatten, or Nice

Died mumbling.

I’ve seen leaders send their armies through the golden gates unlocked by Peter. Out these doors you left a man and returned beyond recognition, clawing through clouds and metal in order to reach the ones you love.

That loved you… Those who are no longer with you on Earth

Have forgotten the sound of your voice, and in the mirror stands a different man, numb – and sad like always in the dark giggling, clutching your knees and idiot.

What comes 

I’ve just heard some rumor                                             

Don’t worry, Don’t refuse to work   

Take ten minutes, 

Taste the free 

Coffee and Turkish meat of political rebels.  

I’ll have a plastic bag, I’m walking    

To tundra – Off shelves of Luna to snickers by Tosi toast  

 Into the Pacific – My eyes are always crying.

Doesn’t anybody stay in one place anymore?  

To listen to the lark ascending, the darkness of the sun.    

Babies cry next to empty shopping carts, inviolate  –    

In the middle of the road,    

The noon of night,   

The joy of love.                                                         

Braid your hair my daughter,   

                              Unknown girl, unborn divinity.     

Your mark’d defiance under trains   

Covered in Flipino mud 

 Where you may dig for diamonds,

 The eyes of an ancient woman

 Papa, will choose a bouquet of flowers – 

For the old Dodgers fan pulling himself across the square,   

 Dancing with Love  

White Heat.
We’re busy all day tomorrow,     

                                 Watch my cup of water tremble.            

Workshop Poetry

Don’t forget the market on Sunday, Don’t forget your Mama.

Dotted lights spell coffee behind my eyes, 

Blonde hair is braided, cutoff, and thrown away – Drowned in an awkward soda.

Cover your mouth. Her eyes dart around the room suspicious of you, followed by a man in yellow…

“You’re writing novels over there?”

Of course only the story of the dream in front me – Reaching for money.

Reaching for candy —

Should I stay with my Uncle? 

A man stares down into his green grocery bag,                              “Where is my money?”


People, when embarrassed, crumble like ants hit by a ray from the sun.

“I like your bracelets!” “Thanks.”

Through the jungle to find what is left of his family after boarding a train in the Land of Peaches.

Where is Peach now? And Tahoe?

And the Moon’s Shadow?

Who’s is this old man insane? Staring back at me through this evil mirror – my son,

Look at the two of us, my resurrection.

Mother Earth is the Lazarus pit.

But what was my mind state as a young man?

Mother’s Prayer



Oh Great Spirit whose voice I hear in the wind, whose breath gives life to all the world,

Hear me,

I need your strength and wisdom. Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset,

Make my hands respect the thugs you have made and my ears sharp to hear your voice,

Make me wide so that j may understand the things you have taught my people, 

Help me to remain calm and sting in the face of all that comes towards me,

Let me learn yet lessons you have hidden in every leaf – in every rock,

Help me seek pure thought and act with the intention of helping others, 

Help me find compassion without empathy overwhelming me.

I seek strength, not to be greater than my brother but, to fight my greatest enemy, myself.

Make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes

So when life fades as the fading sunset, my spirit may come to you without shame. 

In Pencil

You are making my butterflies go…

My mother are you warm? The general, he don’t ride so well- anymore.

As long as grass shall grow;

Apache tears, Custer

The talking Leaves

The Ballad of Ira Hayes

Drums, White girl

The Vanishing Race

Bitter tears were sweet when they ran.

Wagon train rolling along Whiskey