Said as it Was

the clock as a passenger

looks with helpless hands,

as time often cast upon

the rocks of mans momentum

stalls past and present collide,

memory that flattering

cinemagraph of the synaptic’s

relays something other than was,

short breaths come

falter far from the heart,

we as living in this space


flesh wither

wrinkles cluster and deepen

bones become fragile,

yet we strive to linger on

place ourselves as memory on others

so that it is not in vain

even a fragile hand held

is a memory,

cruel tides wash through time

that pull and toss you about,

so steady you remain

until that moment,

that flesh becomes shell

and memory is a function

of recollection,

not ready

it happens

now it is time to accept

and face your own reflection




I Am The Same Curse

i stood where i started from

listening to envy greed and lust,

my throat a weight unfreshened

refused to sing along,

echo around the laundromat

radio splashed it’s autumn gold,

in front of machine

behind me things i will never see,

thrum of rolling drum comforts,

hardship would one day

strike me to the grave,

for now though dead has life,

cool evening passing

food would be another sacred handout,

vinyl abstract floor

with cycle nearly done,

i had a book with words

your last fingers wrote,

the answer had been

when i kissed your hair

you a shining strip torn from me

an accident occupying a seconds space

my frenzied heart and hands

gave last touch,

before ambulance came,

now folding clothes softly

you are in me again

my sight is not wearied out,

and i will go

i must sleep

but only as a stone would

as dreams do not gather



Necrosed Ideology


raw pressed flesh sore

beyond scabs flecked insolence



blood threads awful sign

of tangible fluid

life in crimson



orchestrated pain

handheld waves of distraction,

tainted tongue sings mettallic



secreted thoughts weeping tears,

unfurled ideals a barren burned flag,

lighten the heart as you pick



into the arena

no pressed olive leaves or branches

all that was ancient spilled

overnight into turgid oceans swell



eyes of expectant ones

embracing the sore flesh your body


tragic tide of words come



the machinations of policy

as the wounded lain in constitution

heart blasts trumpet

from the top

all visibility is bright in context

and the healing begins



Inner Child Press

See the whole page my poem


With Jeffrey A Saunders Sr


and also Louis Rams

And LauraSue Guitterez whose column with Inner Child Press it is and i am so grateful


when the only gift is grief

don’t cast it aside,

it may immerse you and

hold you under,

but only for a short while

till realization comes about,

then you can take it

out of the box and

plain wrapper,

lift and look at it from all


it can be an energy

not a substitute

to ordinary life,

look at it this way

and the pain will nourish

not malinger