from bed, battle drums

stranded somewhere between east and west lines that divide a world only spinning for our comfort

every night she positions herself in a bed designed for two where the fate of another shrew is tamed and told where to whistle contrary tunes that pound through puckered lips parading past arm powered ships setting sail to island fantasies waiting in polluted oceans for us to conquer, or douse in gasoline and set fire

leaving constant reminders of human desires to contemplate death while passing through moon phases predicting the flow of life-stopping blood

bustling between scars left by the constant consideration that somewhere, something, somehow is better than the ticking clock we throw back and forth now bowing to unrequited lovers leaving for another zone to practice their polite panting exercises

let’s stop with the please and thank you’s

and understand

head nods and need are enough

stranded implies i can’t leave

there’s a way out


from bed, we’ll rise to their surprise

stand still

look around

focus on where the measure of a human is found

resting in dew drops dripping through fall leaf furls, cascading over ripples, rolling from red to yellow, finally forming a single tear




soaked into story telling soil, spreading and climbing up spindly dendrites sucking to stay alive, splitting paths to where the needs reside


the rain stopped yesterday, dry air deadened our breath

we had enough to sustain

for a few hours

until we fell on crackling brown leaves lifting powder black dust passionately puffed into plumes signaling our demise

the formation and rise of a phoenix bringing rain

a chance to love again

from bed, sleep won’t come so easy

clock click bang

click clock bang

these are the words they sang

silver shells blast through pain-hell halls we create while zombie emotions learn to tell the tales of our fails

heads and tails

loser at every flip


through the head they rang


well rehearsed responses

‘we’ll pull together. we’re -blank- strong’


that song

roots you assholes

roots of the cause

these bloody symptoms

pills keep popping pushing away pain

diseases keep spreading

i can’t feel it

i only respond


i looked at those faces today

i do every day


sitting, searching, nodding

they know

they can’t count on us

if we’re not there

talk, share, define they’re grief!

they don’t ‘just know’

we have to pass this thing down

campfires and kitchen tables used to illuminate our faces, not rectangle spaces

they know

no ‘they’ don’t

open your fucking mouth

from bed, go back to then

“…a tree falling…”

i couldn’t hear the last part

creative cashing-in

beveled blades that transfer wealth

i crept beside her

listening to the steam rise from forest floors

casual benefits


shrugged silence

broken trials




we couldn’t keep up


still life

left listless in language-less hallways


echoing dance steps stranded in anxieties alien shoes


bring me back home

under her draped past

arms that welcomed

a few million

others came under her dress

around a breast

out of reach

couldn’t spare her breath

pass a test

one in four


they watched you erect her


i’ll believe you when you say it happened

i can’t hear their words

if i’m not in the room

from bed, ready for it

reveal those parts that others relate to and relish in the reaction that we are all revolving around the same renegade revelations that connect our retail rate emotions simmering in caldrons of disjointed sustenance ensuring we are all fed before bed distanced from dread calculating new measures of what it takes to open our eyes when mornings draw open our shades

we know the new dawn will bring us to understanding the ticking of time created by a mime who acts out the sunshine spreading its wings to open mist fields of starlings feeding and catching wind

flocking in sequence

taking turns with no sense

what it means to be alone

we can imitate

climb out of fear fate

feel the feather’s beat in rhythms meant to join us once again to common goals.

from bed, regrets disregarded

Contemplating confused states of misunderstanding when i should keep my mouth closed and let you lead the way

it’s not easy

standing by

shuffling states of being in hopes of drawing the trump card we can all use to hit our target number of tricks

dialed in without knowing what one another wants


the author of this confrontation bleeds

as we hop over her limp blue body denying deaths drumbeat. the dum dum sish boom bahs of our rhythmless foot steps marching to bodies of water waiting for our crownless souls to dip in and become a part of losing control

featherless flyers

filtering out the pieces of mystery to stay sane on a spinning orb of indecision and deception

i can’t claim i wasn’t there

you saw me

huddled in a corner

wishing i hadn’t stated my purpose

now you know

i couldn’t join you

even when i grabbed tight and kept you tethered to past triumphs that have become meaningless

i’ll let you go

if you promise to visit the stone remains that prove our time spent together

from a couch, pride in a picture

her hands grasped a sign made with might, laughter, and community. with a single emphasis on what is right and sought after with humanity


rainbow lips pursed, what’s next?

a kiss, whisper, or curse?

another step

fingers slipping

her eyes pacing around, intensity in song and chants resound

it’s her first time

another step

the dark witches chant for souls, grandmas sit with leaning goofy-slogan signs that still align with lifelong goals, while a feather frocked free bird frolics wanting humans to touch on common issues

she catches waves of ho-heys and hey-hos

knees adjusting

her mouth opens to join

she knows what democracy looks like

she tells the world

without a vote

she steps on

fists find the sky

her face widens and eyes smart to stages where leaders do their part, words are lost to be found with education, but she feels the cadence, fervor and intonation.

her hands find one another

a context for pussy

poems from cats, another trick from that hat



her steps continue


sitting, her couch of comfort, with bent and employed signs, sighs.

her mom turns on the news

‘that looks different’

she stands, shoots her mom a look and then upstairs to lay alone

images and words

she walks herself to sleep