If I were inventing a word
Pre keyboads
To make people happy
It would have two p’s
next to each other
and maybe a y



Day after day
The sad beauty.
Watching the little girl
Ooze out of you

I need to decided which one I like.
No I don’t.

Work poem

Every day every look every word.
Every moment wasted
Tanks filled, sitting.
Beautiful works of art collecting
Dust in warehouses.
Transfers of power.
Not even ink on paper
Fleeting bursts of energy
Obligitorily touched
By expendable employees


The dream informs the nightmare
Every abuse is a snowflake
Sometimes we lie
When we tell the truth
What if the Morning Pages
Are the poem?


These old feelings
Like books
And grand sailing ships,
Clear windows of glass
To new worlds,
Now something different,
Chains around the neck
Running through sand
Disguising the path
Inspire by the masochism
To totally different worlds
All good

I awake

Escaping a nightmare
Moments before a
Collision with a
Telephone pole

I see a cat collide
With a moving car
Not mine
It writhes in the street
A boy and his father turn
I am fully awake
I drive by

Deep State

Early buds
En route en route

Working with greatness
Requires great patience
Your bones must be hollow to fly
Something bigger than all of this
Like hunting the rarest of all things
Willing to take our lashes
Bunker down in wet socks
Peek through the cracks
Cup our fingers over our mouths
And blow on them for warmth
We hear breathing

Padded mallots bring us closer
To the truth than our original protocal

Something deeper
Than the mutual deceptions
The body rises and falls
with the breath.
We are the breath
The easy speakers
We translate the barks and the chirps
The undersides of leaves