My Bones Intoned


(Inspired by a post by Oldepunk/Ramjet Poetry. Many thanks for the inspiration!)

carved into my bones

imprints of every stone



from eyes that spew cyclones

who claim to be blown

by my deeds sown

as they disown

laying of flagstones

paved on my backbone


as every bone

does crack and groan

in judgement’s zone

they clone


cackling crones

hone the drone

stomping on me, prone

my evils they bemoan

steeped in hell’s cologne

roan perfidy shown

never in peace alone


they nibble scones

baked of guilted crushed skull pone

while blazing fires shone

reflected in Styx overflown

rejecting deeds to atone


incinerated in fire and brimstone

ashes hot and glow’n

coalesce in piercing moan

scarred reknitted bones

chime the ascending tone

rising Phoenix flown













A Year in the Life of a Felon, Post-Release

twin towering lessons

shattered, burning

imploding catastrophically

emblazoning indelibly

on consciousness

as those other

twin towers

we all watched fall

the teachings of the


erroneously labeled “justice”


labels do not capture

complexities of past or present

yet barcode futures

for perpetual scanning


of those I walk among

oblivious to my status

I would be last picked

from that hypothetical lineup

“she with a number,

wearing orange

in a shady past”

bearing and demeanor

broadcast professional

confident if reserved

diligent and focused

I fit none of the

jumpsuited stereotypes


in the company of those

privy to my felonious rankness

I am congratulated

on my success

one year post-release

I have two jobs

only one of which

is menial

woefully underpaid

I have an apartment

decent neighborhood

of my choosing

I am told it is inspiring

how I carry myself

in productive

forward motion

diligent and focused

I fit none of the

felon stereotypes


I am practicing walking

upright and courageous

in these post-conviction

shower shoes

where I am forever

a felon

where every open door

to career, housing

or relationships

trembles with

potential slamming

upon revelation

where upstanding citizens

including, but not limited to

former dear friends

justify harsh judgments

founded upon

flawed logic

systemic adjudications

diligent and focused

I refuse to abdicate

my journey forward

I just wish I knew

where I was going






A Conversation, Colored Lonely

(written in collaboration with the inimitable Lois E Linkens)


it is at night,
when the silence screams the loudest.
when the curtains are drawn,
and the candle snuffed –
the air is burnt,
with the orange glow
of the blackened wick.
a single star
in an empty sky,
a tiger’s eye
in the witching forest,
a lonely car
on the midnight highway.

in the daylight

the silence is shushed

its horns ground down

under the trampling of the day

it finds kindred spirits

lurking in the pauses

poised to pounce

between hither and yon

a rabid Chimera

intent on foiling its captors

it is at night,
when the silence grows its wings;
when it becomes
arms and fingers
that squeeze and squash,
leaving their purple stains
across my skin.
so tomorrow,
i’ll cover up –
for what does loneliness wear,
when it wants to make a friend?


in the daylight

I dress to kill that silence

bedecked with breastplates

silvery self-reliance

protecting mawkish heartstrings

strained to breaking

by the violent plucking

of the silence in the

blue-black night

diamond crusted gauntlets

constrict my fingers

stretching toward contact


it is at night,
when the ancient words echo;
Plato’s Symposium
rattles through my brain
like bullets fleeing from the barrel.
you are incomplete,
he whispers;
your God-given substance
will not sustain,
your severed arms
are bound to flail
in this darkness,
grappling for a mate
that never comes near.
as i topple on the edge of sleep,
the condescending voice
of ancient wisdom
bends my will across its knee.


in the daylight

learned philosophers


under Ra’s harsh glare –

elderly drunkards

babbling in their cups –

beneath the penetrating rays

hypocrisy illumined.

I splashdown

in the well of loneliness

dug by my constraints

listen as they old-woman cackle

when I savor the dip.

I taste the madness

of love requited

sip from my flask

fractious firewater

eau de fierce independence

with the throatiest of howls

I birth my own

dancing star




Silent Infestations

when we whisper

in the naming

of agony

we birth cockroaches

that scuttle through the walls

dropping diseased


on our plates

while we sleep


when we hide

our wounds

under brightly painted

smiling rugs

we are sweeping vermin

into our abodes

incubating infestations

that crawl


our naked limbs


when we camouflage

our trauma

dress it prettily

as over-reacting

lacy concoctions

hysterical feminine

leather wiles

we breed amanita

brilliantly toxic


upon which we

perch daintly

ankles crossed


when we function



the rocks

upon which

legions lean

or clean

their dirty boots

day after burdensome day

we step over

rancid feces


on our thresholds

strewn across our hearths



scamper off






Pillow Talk

in the night

they tickle my earlobes

murmurs nearly lost

among the thumping

pulse of heartbeat

echoed against my pillow


burrowed in hypnagognia

they whisper

amidst my hair

parting wisps

strewn tousled

across neck and brow


swirling technicolor

they flit and spin

brilliant neon blurred

bump against

grey matter

tracing bones


elusive temptresses

trail softly

upon my frayed edges

hint at promised soothing

seduce my interest

float ethereal



on waking

verses disperse


Outer Ozone of Outrage

surreal sociological study surfaces

anachronistic archeologists argue

substantive subversive sequelae

follow fellated fellows

conniving corruption cavalierly confessed

historically hedonistic hubris

cavorts in cantilevered construction

patterning paternis familiaris

orangey-oiled obfuscating oligarchy

progression of pugnacious pugilists

incite incipient idiocracy


deemed creepy-crawly

she was confined

in no self-spun silk



she deliquesced

consuming herself

until she is

no longer

more than

mucilaginous goo

you will transform

they told her

you will fly free

beautiful to behold

inside her shell

pulsating gunk and muck

all she knows

is insensate ooze


one morning

she twitches


sludge coalesces

in directable movement

pounding the horns

of her head



she cracks the shell

shivers in the air

while slime

dribbles off

she thrusts forward

seared in dawn