Despite the fact that it was Christmas Eve

And I was traveling alone
To an unfamiliar part of the city
Reading Paths To God By Ram Dass
In a seat by the door

Despite the fact that you
Left one in the car with me
Who I then grilled for info
About how to locate you
To track you down
And make you pay
For what you did to me

Despite the fact that nothing
Was taken but my
Sense of security
And faith in humanity
As my broken glasses
Hit the subway floor
After you struck me in the face
And scurried out the door
Laughing with your friends
Onto the platform

Despite the fact that
The terror in his eyes
While I threatened him
Inspired me to let him go
With no recourse

Despite the fact that I am reminded of
Another teenage boy many years ago
Screaming out the window of a
Moving vehicle startling strangers
Just to make a girl laugh

Despite the fact that after
Eighteen years in the city
I shamed myself for not being
More aware of signs to move
To another part of the train car
Or a seat away from the door

Despite the immeasurable guilt
And the lumps of victimhood
That have and will be felt from
These small cruel acts


I forgive both of you

Show Poem / Dec. 10, 2021, KC, MO (The Brick): Please be aware

The old man you shake your stick at
May be on fire

The pain shooting through his knees
Seeps into your babies bottle

A mother’s breast he had to fight for
Sleeps beneath the ground
Preserved like a future science experiment

There is nothing in the world
That cannot be beautiful and sad

The rush of picking a side
Overshadows the main dish

Who loosened the lids on all the salt shakers
Who left the refrigerator door open
Who’s footprints are in the butter

Could there be such a thing
As a mindful meat cutter

Could we eventually see
With the eyes we are born with

I see many worlds dancing and
Many worlds asleep
Many worlds dreaming
Dreaming of wakefulness
Dreaming of sleep

Show Poem/ Dec. 3, 2021, Lawrence, KS (Replay Lounge): Today I write the poem down

But that doesn’t make it more or less
Than the poetry of any other moment

When I see a silent leaf drifting through
An unseasonably warm December sky
It is no different than a mob of young sexpots
Tearing up a dance floor on a Friday night

Regret is a shortcut for the rich path of mystery

Its sugar has us dipping our tails
Into bottomless wells chasing
Our own stories over page after page scrolling. Ahead in a book that has yet to be written

Engage your ass as rudder not the carrot or the stick
Invite the ghost of radical uncertainty
Into your bungalow of shifting sand

Hitch a ride on the wave of destruction
Rejoice in the salty tears
Of unqualified compassion

Operating at a safe distance –07 /26/19 @ Crow’s Coffee (KC, MO) #poetry

Addicted to three-thirty​
Allowing for the clouds to pass
Documentary jungle dreams
Operating at a safe distance

When I was a child once
I let a dog bite me in the eye twice
The first time I wanted to play
The second time I was apologizing

Time to let go of all the stuffed animals
To break the seal
To pet the penguins
Take a coffee with danger

Zero-calorie sweetener
Balanced for everyday use
Earthly grains ready to eat
All-day pain relief
What was I apologizing for?

My species, my infinite wisdom
In every relationship since
I’ve never forgotten you Pretzel

Girl in a wheelchair at the airport

Thank you for sharing with me
Your beautiful ballet in outer space

I fell in love with you at first sight
For a moment I thought you were a boy
It felt like it happened
Almost without thinking
Why did I do that
The shoes gave it away
Why do we need that
They were pink

From above clouds can look like
Skin under a microscope
The surface of another planet
Or the old standby cotton balls
The fabric of our lives

If I’m honest it was the hair that
First got my attention
The way it hung in your eyes
Like saying look at me
I can’t see you

Okay maybe it was the wheelchair too
I don’t know which came first
In this chicken or egg world
But I just wanted to thank
Thank you for the dance

Fire men

Excuse me, sir?
You left something
Right there on the bench
Next to me.

Marks on the launch pad.
How many suffer
For a flower to grow?

“We burn them to ashes
And then we burn the ashes.”

We learn so much from fire.
Everything burns the same
Beautiful and bright.
Everyone in the room knows
When it’s on.

A million tiny tongues
All going at once.
Do they taste anything?

“If I could lick my own balls
I might never date again.”

Fire changes things
With one quick click flicker

The gaze of a father
Turns the skin to Silly Puddy.
We forge weapons
During commercials
Hack away
At the hanging bags of Jello.

The fire is in us.
We feel entitled to write books
To burn.

Washington D.C. 2/23/16 #poetry 

Hearing the distant sounds
The giant claws
Scrape against the pavement 

A hollow hum of machine and metal
Another day of stamping out
Our spot 

The sun rises like chocolate Babka 

The world teeters atop an ice cream cone
Held by a skipping child
In a blue dress

A couple stares down
at their Empty plates
Waiting for their devices
to charge

A big blue yoga ball
Pressing against the ass
Of an ex marine 

Life in the truck lane
This one goes that way
That one goes this way 

The joy is not the fast lane
The joy is in us

In a cup or a plate
There is joy
in a pair of socks

The world dangles from a bolo tie
Loosely strung around the neck
Of a alien teenager 

Meeting people before knowing
Sharing power strips
And lightening rods 

Everything donuts
Soft spoken waiters and parking protocols 

Burning buildings and
Toasted secrets 

We share it all
It is all in us
Put another quarter in
The rain has almost stopped 

NYC 2/21/16 #poetry

Buschwick morning
Researching the walls 

High flash point formula
Penetrating catalyst

Death by death metal
White night dark horse 

Can we talk
Yes we can talk
We can walk
We can warm our hands by the fire

We can warm our hands
By holding
Our warm holding hands
Handfuls of warm goat
And cumin
Cheese and warm flat bread

Sore shoulders
Cracking knees
Folding pizza slices 

Troughs of oil and spice flow
Like melting ice through a hot city gutter
Down down down 

I see a water taxi in our future
International bar still there
Rays still there
Sidewalk still there 

I still see every breath
Every breath different
Every step
Like an explosion
An explosion exposure
Ch ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb
Like drinking warm wine
After being a little cold 

Brooklyn, NY 2/20/16 #poetry

Swimming with a beginners mind
Feasting upon the world
Like an open face sandwich
Holding things with both hands
Holding things with
Both hearts 

The under brush
The trash and paper
On the side of the road
Tangled in the branches 

The joy of pissing in allies
Teacup surprise
Taking refuge in holes

Where are you please send help
There’s carpet on the wall
There are Dog biscuits on the walls 

Drumstick clock face
Guitars and bars
Stars and floors
And full moons over dark skys
Frozen pipes and hard times
Fit bit shit bit
Big ass and stained glass

Swimming with a beginners mind
How many times do I have to say it?
I love you all
And I hate it when you fight
You are so special and talented
Like the most excellent sandwich
Ever made
The very very best sandwich I have ever
Ever tasted in my entire life.