I Met You Today

No pillow comes without residue.
At our age, blessings come in small forms…

hands cradled together,
words buried in sweet breath,
unconditional nights,

Tell me about your exploration, about
fingertips trickling down
spines do not break easily, do they?

I met you today,
I see your influence and result,
you probably know
that I see through blue eyes,

saturated by the way your fingertips move.

Fountain Of Confessions On Amazon

fountain of confessionsFountain Of Confessions

    Fountain Of Confessions is now available on Amazon and Amazon Kindle. I look forward to hearing any feedback on it. Thank you so much!

    When The Fire Burns

    I haven’t drank you for an hour,
    or swallowed the sharks
    swimming in your pale
    The road gobbled me up and
    I do not miss your cancerous tongue,
    all I smell is rubber
    and all I want is the moon
    to take me to bed
    where I know what lives under
    the sheets.

    I know the blank ceiling page
    and the rotation of the clouds,
    I know how I cycle down,
    a tornado scripture
    burning my steeple to ash.

    I translate you into languages unknown,
    too complex for me to read,
    the devil’s tongue,
    a serpents spit,
    a good muse when the fire rumbles
    me to numbness.

    Butterfly Wings

    Her conversation created craters
    around fine dining – she
    is one glass too many,
    I read her like wine before we sat down.
    The light was getting too frisky
    when she reached South for
    my heart.

    Her eyes crossed like a thieves fingers,
    pure white bled through.
    “I thought I knew you” she said
    as I mopped up the puddle of hatred on the floor.

    More often than not, I’d plant false
    seeds of little baby heartlings
    where the girls’ pretty fingers would reach,
    but now I have turned.
    My shape is funny. It fits like
    butterfly wings.
    Honest. Divine. Free.

    Time Travel

    Boiling over, I am scraped off the bottom,
    the block I belong on,
    57th street where the crows sing.
    Time travels around the city
    -back and forth-
    like it doesn’t matter
    swooping through me each time.

    I swing like a pendulum inside
    my brain talks so fast
    future and past, but all I see is the street
    with a man parked under
    his life.
    I can’t tell if he’s dead or alive.

    He might be another.
    From somewhere I haven’t met
    with guns and
    and sex crawling up the walls
    I’d kill him to tell it all

    but he can’t.
    His mouth stopped with his heart
    a long time ago.
    Time comes back again
    and I am standing in the kitchen

    wine pouring from the window sill,
    put a pie out to dry
    sugar, there’s no room for you and I
    still want to be here.
    The clock is purring like a new motor
    ticking backward

    and I’m watching my mother.
    In X-ray, I can see right through her.
    I see her fear and her
    weak little shoulders – I am a caged, feral animal
    ready for the world
    My muscles grow stronger and stronger
    I spit on the caged bars and twist them from

    now I’m standing in the corner
    face to face with death in all its honour
    a coffin, a casket full of
    skeletons of the past
    that merge my cells together
    maybe we never were two
    time splits here into thick poles

    North and South I spend my dreams
    in Antarctica
    reaching for the coldest depth
    I can find
    freezing myself in time
    where nothing happens,
    nothing changes,

    I’ve let life tick its last time by.

    Jupiter Rises

    Uncharted territory! Galilean moons
    orbit, satisfied by discovery.
    Jupiter waits for your sounds,
    do you hear her calling?

    She dreams of your sleep,
    cracked by early morning light,
    pink lips opening wide,
    new trees cherried by blossom

    Seasons have changed.
    Her great red storm hovers
    like a tailed boa.
    You could lay on her naked thoughts
    or wear her like a shadow.

    She waits, an elliptical path away,
    for your sun to rise steady
    on her moon.
    Wake up!
    Do you hear her call for you?

    One Sweet Gulp

    quick bolt tight lightning
    grip, thigh deep
    in thick sand

    south landing mound
    in palm of your hand
    hot air

    tumbles over bare
    back, raw hide lash
    prints where cougars

    Black panther, I pray
    for a taste
    of your thread,
    silk lessons spinning
    deep under

    pricked thorns leak
    wildly like

    a gesture
    a kiss
    a swift, single move

    then tongue to tongue
    a battle for the best
    pulse over pulse

    Sleep Walk


    through a black body bag

    toe’s tagged

    he falls dirty like a dish rag

    My love, his chalk

    outline becomes my bed

    he sleeps deep inside my lungs

    I try to cough up his death

    We exhale sharply together,

    our silly little game

    one of us a winner

    the other in the grave

    I am stuck with this raw, young body here

    but he has taken my blood

    my pulse is stiff against a man

    yet I howl for the touch

    For the moon’s milk

    to puncture my skin

    pray for my spirit

    bring me to life again


    This is where she could drip blood
    if it could drip
    outside of the body,

    but she is internal.

    Penetration can happen if lead solders
    make contact.

    On a bluish/gray scale,

    she was never meant to be loved,
    or touched,
    or shot out of a pistol

    well below the speed of sound.