Tuesday, November 17, 2015


With my ear pressed
into the back of her neck
I heard
          I heard a pulse;

whether ‘twas hers or mine
I do not know

but it was fast and arrhythmic
like cars.

Cars like wasps flailing
about the intersection
          waiting to tell you
          a thing or two about sadness.

And I’m stuck
stuck trying to start my apartment
with my car key.

Three seconds gone,
but goddamn
you’d swear it was four

for counting on you
          I’m counting you on
the walls
walls that have discovered

a tenured footprint

sparkling water will sustain you
better than tap
dance water

but it’s not yet 1
          I’m not yet drunk

you’re not yet fun.

Saturday, October 31, 2015

Fata Morgana

Dissecting the moon
beneath the corpse orgy

you’re on the
side of the blizzard

a beautiful  way
to say no.

Because you’re still

sick from the mirror

in the anorex:

recurring nightmares
doowop songs

I want to softly snarl
softly into the nape
of your neck

because your spine
is holding

you’re back.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Jeffery (can't) Drive

From within a dim light cast
two silhouettes on the shade
70 miles pour hours
emblazoned down the window
on those drying streets that peer
listless into your cold room
onto your dying sheets
And I stood there on the corner
where the pale green things
met the asphalt; two years nonethewiser
wondering why I’m not the guy
who’s silhouette’s on the shade.
            “Because monogamy is the 5th season”
forever shadow-caressing the blade
along your arm’s arm.
Striking, isn’t she?
Striking in her gauze-white gown
Striking out
is she
as she projects like eclipses
her silhouette on the shade.
And your keychain feels lighter
when the miniature flashing Chicago skyline
fell off in deep November
          No longer numbering our days
          murmuring me away from your silhouette on the shade.

Imagine living in a state of constant exhalation
Now imagine living.

Saturday, July 4, 2015

And Now, Further West

If delirium
like fevers

if this rabid
of insidious want

became logically

If rationale
turned its gaze
to awake effervescently

on a bright spring morning

without succumbing
to dark
winter mourning

if your name was

I’m Here


To Stay

was more than a melting
block of ice
with no shade
in the black June sun

in the blacker June regret.

Then you could buy me
three months of calm

before the panic
inevitably crept back up

my amygdala.

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Jesse West II

I encountered you
at 4:37 p.m.
on the last day of June

somewhere I wasn’t expecting.

I daydreamed
past the nausea I usually feel
the first six seconds
when I see you.

A comforting old friend,

because it means
my eyes and heart
are swimming
circles around you

wishing different moons
were above us;

a moon that sweetly drags
with the tide
upon my dark shore.

But here
under this moon;

our wretched
patronizing moon

I am screaming
at windshields

decaying exponentially
faster than you

sleeping unsoundly

without you

on another

black cloud.

Monday, June 29, 2015

Nocturnal Panic Disorder

And that would require
all the terror
I possess

to wake up
in cancerous dark

staring at her
closed, lifeless eyelids

convinced she is either
a shark
or a demon.


vampiric orgasms
in the resolution.

With every passing

the crow;

black dream.

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Jesse West (a gram of ana)

in a chilled raven


Monday, June 22, 2015

A Maisonic Encounter

these prolific moments of sadistic motion
washing the palpitations
whispering in cold afternoon.

sundressed, the mourning;
frivolous revelations
breathing is starkissed.

Just open your glittering
Eyes enough to
Suffocate me in
Sweet serenity


on this
the most wondrous
eve of mediocrity

and we're surrounded
by drunken ghosts. 

Monday, June 15, 2015

Involuntary Inhalations

Another broken summer;
another dream about a storm.

A colder wind
with every quicker mile –

a wraith screaming
sweet staccato

like shovels shattering

All the poetry
has wolves in it;

gusts of wind
like heart arrhythmias.

All the wolves
have poetry in them;

like your brain
is still buffering.

If only the world
were sepia toned…

Ethereally sad
and gothic
and cold
and dreary

something nostalgically

in dead sepia.

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Queen Size Coffin

And we run
but our words lie


So much so –

I’ve fallen in love
with the sound
of falling down.

No melody
as unmercifully


as hitting the concrete
during the downpour;

blood running
thicker than water –

our bloodwater
running away

without us.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Lacerate & Puncture

What a warped midnight;

some winter version
of an alternate Thursday.

Nothing was right
on the wine-stained carpet

nothing was wrong
on the blood-stained ceiling

nothing was found
on the sky blue sheets

frostbitten near the window

ice instilled on gray

Grey inscribed
on the creases of your sleep.

A crown
a cask
a collective effort
of counterfeit conundrums;

I can’t unearth
your misery

for another afternoon.