2011 - 2013



Vaporize fail.

Always pumping through your arteries.

Straight to your heart;

Beating in our hands.


You can't hide.

Bloody Devil Mistress

There will never be enough years,
when every day we are his.
Separating this skin,
pulled from the bone,
worn down,
sin by intoxicating sin.

Fires lick at our feet;
we rush, in haste,
mistress to his desire.
Head to pillow falls,
sleeping to the sounds,
of a lusting demon choir.

Our muse may be the Devil;
sins bringing a blush to our cheeks.
There's no use in escaping him,
we'd be chewing restraints for weeks.

Heart brimmed with pain,
and a head full of chains;
yet, still nothing remains.

A vile gnarled ugly thing,
whence twisted rope we'll swing;
while the Devil dances,
splashing in our blood,
and Hell's angels chant and sing.

Blood of Revenge

In the dark valley between here,
and there,
is madness beyond what the eye can see.

On grooves of inky blackness,
on flesh of white linen,
blood forms words.


In mind, caged beasts,
inside a body, pages curl.


If you prick the beasts
they will bleed words in revenge.

Poisoning you with blood,
dripping from their tongue
onto the fabric of your soul.


Little Death

Moaning hymns of flowers,

she lay bouquets at the grave,

whispered words bloomed for

you; her little death began.

Pretty Dreams

Distracting yourself with pretty things,
even in your dreams;

Pretty squares of fabric, and pretty girls,
it seems.

Is it a dream, a reflection of reality;
your real life;

Those pretty things wanting you;
easily dismissing your wife.

Erase This Poem

Wrapped up and empty.
Pretension oozes from his pores;
He will not acknowledge his transparency.
What we see.

We want to cup his face
In our hands.
Take his band of gold;
Like the ring of scotch on our night table.

Stare into his eyes. Say we love him;
despite his pretension. We desire him,
his voice, his mouth, the need to tell him truths.
Just be.

The meanings will elude him;
Confused because he doesn't know
How to dance with our words. We tell him.
This is not a poem

All She Ever Wanted

All she ever wanted was
To lie facing North with
The soft breeze tickling her
Feet, like white organza.

Dip her toes in the sands
Of the oceans and suspend

Time in a droplet, rolling with the tide
On the banks of a blue sunset.

All she ever wanted was her
Face in the stars, giddy on

The red dust of Mars. Her head
Cradled in the lap Orion

Envisage of We

We will
Wave her flag,
Play in her ashes.
Now apart,
She would not;
Embracing and never
willing to fight,
For We.

She was
A game of tag,
We behind lashes.
Not smart,
She could not;
Envisage a forever,
killing our rights,
For She.


Soul Desire

Forbidden passions come alive
and there is nowhere to
fall but inside myself.
All focus is out of control.

I am captivated by our transgression,
that our simple touches might flame
beauty and inspiration between artist souls.

Yet yearning for anything brings
uncertainty, tears of reality,
sending my mind and heart reeling, body aching.

Why do I cry but for
what transpires between our bodies,
our mouths, our minds. Delight.

Almost There

Brilliant bellowing yesterday swept through the door and penetrated my skin,
oozed into my soul and averted my path. Just when I think I am Almost There, I’m nowhere, with swirling madness gurgling black at my feet.

I’d like to pull the darkness over my shoulder and bundle it all up into a paper ball.
I can’t think of enough four letter words to ward off the evil soaking into my garments.

If I bleed a cup of perfume and pour it over my porcelain white body in a ceremonial-like ritual, if I gave birth to a farrow in which they could cast their pearls, would I appease the gods?

The answers never comes, I just stumble back and forth over trodden ground
waiting for divine intervention while my skin is jumping out of itself. There is always a capsule, a pipe, a bottle, somewhere to climb, to shelter myself from reality. \

Lack of intuition pools in my mind while it leads me to the place I am going.

Looking For

I was looking for
A letter you wrote

Behind the recipe
Cards in my box

I forgot I threw it away
I Was Here

I Was Here

Three simple words etched in the sand “I WAS HERE”.

The tide rises gently, falling and rising higher

until the white surf washes the words into the sea.

Bona Fide

Sometimes I just want to tell you to get off my boat

Because you are putting holes in my sail

You’re setting me back, and convalescence is part of my penalty.

You’re turning my ocean into a wasteland
Making love, philosophizing, and beating a path apart.
I’ll let you go from my arms and I fear,
My soul will not fare the same.
Sooner than you think.
Your bosh blah blah blah and heartfelt feelings because your “bona fide”
Professed, you still talk too much,
Your afraid because the grass is only temporarily
Green and I am going to turn brown, because in your mind
That’s the way it will always be.



Brilliant bellowing yesterday swept through the door and penetrated my skin,
oozed into my soul and averted my path. Just when I think I am Almost There, I’m nowhere, with swirling madness gurgling black at my feet.

I’d like to pull the darkness over my shoulder and bundle it all up into a paper ball.

There aren’t enough four letter words to ward off the evil soaking into my garments.

If I bleed a cup of perfume and pour it over my porcelain white body in a ceremonial-like ritual, if I gave birth to a farrow in which they could cast their pearls, would I appease the gods?

The answers never comes, I just stumble back and forth over trodden ground

waiting for divine intervention while my skin is jumping out of itself. There is always a capsule, a pipe, a bottle, somewhere to climb, to shelter myself from reality. Lack of intuition pools in my mind while it leads me to the place I am going.

Punk Naked Girl

She’ll scream with wild light
As punk naked as she is
Writhing beneath your sweet rhythm
Blowing blue smoke rings above your language
All the time dancing around your heavy microphone
Singing into it the anthem of drums.

Treacherous Visions

Afterwards, body curling beneath me,
Visions emerge in our embrace.
When I am alight with his honeyed words
There is no possibility of false Knowledge

Floating, nay, plunging back to terra firma
With nothing save a wisp of smoke in my chest;
I avert my eyes at the very notion of his indifference,
Resisting his beguiling paradigm.

He’ll cast aside commonality
With a flit of his wrist exclaiming:
“Nary a person I have been”
With that he will profess his Excellency.

For this I shall bow before his feet
And swoon at his philosophical prose
As though every word were pure light,
Cascading from the heavenly skies.

Thereafter I shall silently chastise myself,
All for the unpretentious purpose
Of partaking of visions that emerge
From our treacherous embrace.

Girl and a Mans Dance

On that night bright lights and music vibrated the hips of boys and men. Stage left a young
boy took another by the hand, “this is the box step”, as they stiffly moved to Some People
Wait A Lifetime for a Moment Like This. Indeed they do.
She watches as they crowd the dance floor. Old, young, big small, drag queens and cowboys hold onto the moment.

This girl watched on.

The curtain drew the evening to its inevitable end and the beat of You Look Wonderful Tonight played over the couples holding onto, for some, that last dance. Others grab their coats for an evening that parents in this certain area would cringe at the thought of. She smiles.

She wishes for his presence, to be entangled in his arms so that she can whisper to him that everyday he looks more wonderful to her. To experience another moment in life, side by side.

Looking back brings to mind the sweetness of the fall when their hands would intertwine and she marveled at the two different lives brought together, here, under uncertain circumstances. Breathing in the spice of life that is him. Gestures were enough when the night eye set its sight.

She looks to all the lonely nights and those to come, when their will be no fingers to entwine, no spice. The moments fading that she grasps onto. Wanting to capture them in her palms, taste them on her tongue and dance in the moonlight holding his breath in hers.

The dance floor clears, as do the tears, as the men dance off into the night.


There pied-á-terre may be the back alleys
Or dumpsters
In Brooklyn
Those greased hands in midtown are
Part of a Universal Product Code
That the bright lights will never be.

Hollow Existence

A princess she was not,
Razor sharp tongue,
Butched up,
Cut up,
Fucked up,
Tattooed head to toe

Watched in the wings,
Arching in a swans neck,
Two drops zig zag in parallel
Down her perfect chest.

There was a time perhaps,
She bled deep green poison
And lingered too long in decays
Perfect embrace,
As a dirty angel’s prisoner.
Wrapped in obscurity.

Now she has only tears,
Ripped at dreams of empty shadows
And ghosts.

Untitled 1

Dusting off the afterglow|
Through vines of furrowed faith.

Against leaps and bounds of tarried states.
Where our tiny paradise lays
And we burn the morning words,
And other such synthetic desires.

All along sundered by varied loyalties.
Pounding our vestigial conception onto stone-deaf ears.

Untitled 2

Candid translucent beating flags
Waving in yesterdays peace
Abhorring profits in the name
Of obscure beliefs.

The cryptic white crosses ensconce
The scheme
Of concrete oceans ran by
Aristocratic rouges in the guise
Of a false conscientiousness.


Chicago Garbage

Speaking with grumbles and harsh gestures, slamming glasses, plates, each other. No words.
That summer in the heat of Chicago I’d sit on the front steps and blow bubbles into the thick air, to the sky, waiting for the rain to come to wash away the garbage. Planes would fly by and I would dream of travel to far away places, to lands uncharted, to sanity. Escape. The neighbor whistling signaling me to dance in my panties to Madonna while supper cooked on the stove and I cherished the few stolen moments left. Pulling down the shades and closing the windows tight so that crazy lady next door with all the cats and birds couldn’t talk to me or peek in my windows.

Edge of the bed, nowhere to go but in. Hating his smell, his breathing, wishing it would all stop. Up to make coffee in the wee hours of the morning, while hateful words fly on the drive into the city..

Hail a cab, get on a plane, blow bubbles into the air and hope one comes back with a pink lady in it to take me and my dog to the next cliché rainbow to find an empty pot of gold, no trimmings please.

The rain never washed the garbage away, from the inside it couldn’t be reached. Kids walked by with their dogs, leashed like me. An uncommon pet kept common. Like so many leashes being pulled and yanked, it’ll all snap. So that in the end I no longer blow soap bubbles into the sky hoping for clean rain. I’ll just wash the garbage myself.

Cracker Jack Prize

You can be my cracker jack prize, no consolations here.
Jack in the box with no air. Surprise by every crank.
No future but the past, holding on to that prize.
Squeeze and let go watch it zig, zag and pop.
Cereal boxes hold no toys such as these.
Only the Times, Harold and P.O. Box 11
Have it in the know.


She holds on to every scrap, bit and Harry,
Hoping to define who she is at this stage.
Doesn’t walk at life, runs full force.
Knocking down all the doors.
Embraces life…and men with vigor
Unmatched by peers.
Lets chitter and chatter roll off her back,
Tongue at variable speeds.


She was a child.
She ran everywhere.
She smelled of gum and loved balloons.
She had sun-kissed hair and rosey cheeks.
She loved to skip.
She was innocent, happy.
She loved to play in the mud and collect tadpoles during floods.
She loved to ride bike and play pretend.
She loved to sing.
She was innocent, happy.


All the remember whens and there was a times gone by,
sticking to the roof of reality with a piece of pink Bubbleicious.
Picked at like a scab, crusted over under desks,
Left by children with small feet tied with laces of rainbows.

Strung high, small shoes, on phone wires tapped in where the government listens,
Strides in with their free speech ears telling you to think open.

Vien Instanity

Bring on the dysphoria
from main and state.
Broken glass between my shelves,
teeth and clenched fists.
Crimson droplets blue in my skin
skidding along my arm hairs
and saline on cheeks.
Deliberate capitulation smeared
on windowless walls.
Waxen dolls melted into lace and
tipped over rubber lips.
Grease paint on thighs, ankles
glowing bright in amber hues.
Blister and bubble. White teeth scream.
Times change but the old men still rock, always to the same tune
Of when I was a child.

Kiss Time

The incessant clicking of the hand reminds me of every damn second wasted.
When all anyone wants to do is sleep, fuck and eat.

Not necessarily in that order.

Lustfull, lazy gluttons.
When there is art to breathe, words to eat and a beautiful world to share your bed with.
So full of life you can lick it till it screams.
Much to live for and plenty to die for.
Pulling on my nose, my toes, and my arms wrapped me up in pink taffeta and
shipped me off into the sunset.
Unwrapped by the sea and kissed by the moon, making love to the world, one by one.


A Mans Eye

A Temples for the gods
And the stars in the sky
Like silk on skin
Drawing you in
Into the darkness you follow
Drunk on lust
Light headed with opiate
The flesh entices you
To taste the sweet nectar
Partake in the feast.
Feasts of flesh lay before you
Wickedness pulls you to
The edges of powerlessness

City of the Forsaken

Darkening cityscapes
They rest
In beds of garbage
In alleys of filth
Not overlooked by a passing
Clouds roll by
They eat
From dumpsters
In shelters
Thunder scares them to the depths
Of the corners
As they wash under gutters
Of rain water
Night falls
Pulling up blankets of darkness
Around themselves
In the distance a steeple
Reminds them
They have been forsaken.

The Night Animals

Blue on pink in the setting sun
Black against the horizon
They land
The rising moon calls
To the night birds
The singing of twilight
The cry of the wolves
They come out to feast
On the flesh of the innocent
Taking lives
Breading sin
The full moon beckons them
To dance
To take the blood of life for

Clicking Heels

White marble floors
The clicking
Sunlight falls through the sky
People walk
Not noticing
The clicking

Splintering Tears

Along in the corner
I sit to cry
But no tears will come
I'm all tapped dry
The streaks on my face
Give it away

The sorrows within
Held through the day
My minds overcome
By the sadness inside
I try to remember
The day I died
My heart grew cold

As the ice in winter
And hate took over
Like a permanent splinter
Now alone I will sit
And shed no tears
My heart's locked up
And I don't give a shit.


Buildings of gold, rooms of silver,
Fine china, tapestries galore,
Pillars of marble, chalices of platinum
Encrusted with rubies.
Partake in everything fine.
Silks and firs,
Hoards of coins, diamonds.
Beautiful women , sparkling wines,
Banquets of rich foods.
Take pleasure in the taste, the smell,
The sight, the touch,
And awake.

Staring Blankly

It paws at my body with animal like claws
Ignoring my disinterest.
I turn away,
Staring blankly.

It tugs at my clothes loosing them,
Animalistic lust.
I want to cry,
Staring blankly.

It laughs amusingly at my struggles,
My defenses.
I go numb,
Staring blankly.

It delights in its own satisfaction.
It’s over,
Part of me dies,
Staring blankly.

1992 -1997 | The Teen Years

Eternity in Hell - a Poem

Close your eyes and inhale death
so long in the dark chamber, locked up,
swept away by the dust.

at the walls of your mind.
Letting insanity take over.
Depression bleeds to mingle with
your corrupted soul,
telling you this is death, this is eternity.

Bloodshot eyes, stare helplessly from
the dark corners.
Not your imagination.
Your crying out in the darkness.
Forever destined to fall in the
deep, dark pits of Hell.
To be carried away by the fires and
the engulfing flames that will never end.


On the lashes are the tears,
which remember that last

My heart, it grieves for long
lost loves and loves that will
never be.

Sing me a song, a lullaby,
put me to sleep tonight.
For when I am gone, they may miss me then, and
all of my loves may cry.


She weaves her magic
casts a spell.
Uses him and abuses him
and damns him to hell.
On her fingers he'll see the color red,
when she lies to him,
beats him and leaves him for dead.
Still he will come back,
begging for more,
Even when she leaves him
crying on the floor.
Nobody knows why he loves her so much,
But I think it must be her magic touch.

Satans Fury

Evil woman, Devil spawn,
what will you do when I am gone?
Who will you curse and damn to Hell.
whose body are you going to sell?
Whose children now are you going to take,
whose innocent sisters will you rape?
The cross of god within my hand,
forgiving sins of immortal man.
Satan’s fury in your eyes,
stealing my soul with immortal lies.


You try so hard
to save me from my sin
but the dark depression
seeps within.
It holds me and caresses me
and won't let me go.

Do you understand me?
Will you ever know?

It talks to me of love
and happiness,
promises untold.

It's a creature of disguise
what secrets does it hold?

It comes to me at night
and whispers in my ear,
It slithers and speaks and
draws me near.

If I try to run, If I try to hide,
It finds me, it sees me,
It's by my side.


I followed you one night
just to see were you'd go,
And the place that you went
surprised me so.
In a church yard you went
and knelt down to pray,
And I wondered what had
brought you there that day.
I followed you to a grave
but stayed far away.
Tears fell as I watched you
fall on your knees to stay.
I wondered for long, whose
love did you keep,
As you knelt by the grave
that night to weep.
I needed to know, so I took
a look to see
And sadness took over when
I saw it was me.

An Image Of Hell

Fire, red, burning bright. Bloody bodies, rotting slowly. Hot black rocks, so hot they're cold.
Evil grins with haunting eyes, staring from the bottom of the muddy pits.
Clammy hands, grabbing, clutching, never letting

Wicked laughs from deep throats.
Painful rods poking sharply at the base of your spine.
Scared flesh, peeling and slimy.


Hitting rock bottom, life isn't worth it.
Get it over, don't suffer through it.
Take the dagger, the knife, the gun.
You know what they want, you're the one.
Caring more is stupid, any less is a sin.
Life is spread out way to thin.
Pressures from here,
pressures from there.
It's everywhere I turn, will I ever learn?
Life isn't worth it, don't put me through it.

All poetry originally posted online in 2010 at: http://ourlifepoetic.blogspot.com/