Day 100 – Lifeblood

We were born in a world
that promised us love,
that preached us backyard summers,
that taught us the value of honest work

We were born in a world
that fed us cinema,
that baited us with dreams it spun,
that led us to the brink and let us go

Come to find,
love’s a scheme we can’t afford
Come to find,
our honest work is not enough
Come to find,
we don’t deserve the things
we selfishly assumed
that we had every right
to desire

And so we are a generation spoiled by
ideology that we did not approve;
now we are a congregation ruled by
technology that we did not invent

Yet we’re the ones who have to fix the system,
the honest work for which they trained us up-
and we don’t have
any lifeblood
to spare.


Blood Tide

You open your mouth
and the blood tide rolls your heart
out over the kitchen tiles,
a rubber mockery of all those shameful times
you’ve done this before.

You hoped this time
that someone would bring a bucket,
you can’t be trusted with this,
the horrors you unleash, you splash on linoleum,
bowl full of innocent fruit.

You stare, cough uncontrollably,
melt in a heap for less than a minute,
apologize frantically,
look what a mess you’ve made, what a terror you’ve brought
but you’re up

on your knees all hours of the night,
breathing haze from your bottle of bleach.

Year 2: Day 160 – A Glorious Reign Of Terror

If the dream must die
I’d rather kill it myself
in a glorious reign of terror.

If there is no reward after all
for patience and virtue
I might as well laugh
while I rip down the sky.

I might as well give the crowd
the show they’ve been aching for,
if there is no reason
to be demure anymore.

If they want a bag of meat
they’re gonna get it;
bloodhounds snarling in a language
that needs no interpretation,
whose currency is fire in the eyes,
is mirrors and skin,
is hunger and thirst.

I’ve lived for decades in this form
and don’t I know its charms,
every prize it were capable to snatch?
Haven’t I known it were possible
to stun the wolves before now?

But the secret dance, my best colors
behind my eyelids which shutter
a world unbreached, unquiet,
unwilling to bare itself out,
had a dream that they were enough,
a silly dream,

an innocent dream from softer pastures
from younger planets without wisdom,
before being lifted by its neck scruff
and set down in a ghastlier truth
and stoked to fever.

If the dream must die
I’d rather kill it myself
than watch it rust to dust;

I’d rather stand beloved
by a pack of dogs, frenzied
by the dripping knife in my hand,
beautiful at last
in a glorious reign of terror.

Year 2: Day 104 – Now Do You Believe?

Now do you believe
that we are never-ending,
that we can speak across the universe
in the language only we know?

When I had counted you gone
but could not feel right
without writing your name
on the first page,

and you had counted me gone
but could not feel right
without opening that book
to find your name

do you believe it’s been long enough
to prove us blood?

When I wrote though I knew
you weren’t reading,
but I couldn’t help myself

and you knew that I wasn’t
writing for you,
but you couldn’t help yourself

do you believe we are eternal,
long-lost brother, do you believe
in sibling souls, do you believe
we could’ve been found
any other way?

Year 2: Day 7 – Flesh and Blood

Nice protection, wearing my skin,
nice way of avoiding my ire.

Nice way to insure your assets
when half of them are mine.

How could I act without mercy
when it’d be my blood on the wall?

Why must I always stay my fists
though you never flinch at all?

If it’s love that gets you off the hook
it’s only love that keeps you there-

a privileged exception to the rule,
of flesh and teeth and hair.


Don’t forget to check out my first anthology, Candy Pizza: Poetry that’s Fun and Healthy, available on Amazon & Kindle.


Day 315 – Crawl If I Have To

It’s the attitude that saves a man
from lying down and dying,
saves a heart from ceasing,
saves a soul from fading,

that I would rather hurt than quit,
will ache before I’ll stop.

It’s the knowledge of our particular wounds,
the throbbing mess we face, eyes wide,
that proclaims for us “it is not in vain,”
and powers us further on.

I know where my bruises come from.
I know what they’ll always be.

I know that this knotted sore in my chest
will not heal, and I do not try.

But I will crawl if I have to,
in order that I will one day run
leaving a trail of blood, if that may be.

Day 300 – Birth Of Dreams

Let your dreams die, oh, let them go
and do not dig them up.
Empty your heart every day and never
attempt to fill it back up.

For if you draw breath in sequence,
moment to moment, you must believe
that you will find all the air you’ll need
rushing to fill your lungs.

You do not spur your blood on its course,
you do not lengthen your bones;
so do not scour the Earth to find
what passion would fuel your soul.

As night falls on the horizon
which cannot help but to swell with dark,
so, too, is life satisfied endlessly
with the unfailing birth of dreams.

It is when we try to stay the sun
that our frailty is felt, and more,
that as we watch our dreams expire
a thousand more are formed.