all the beauty of the spring is not locked within one seed,
the aria is not sung in a single breath;
no single brushstroke pins life to the painting,
nor does one word define the poem.
although, certainly,
the thrum of spring is lesser with each lost seed,
the aria is ruined by the absence of one breath,
the painting, flat without a missing splash of color,
and that last perfect sentence would be better with one more —–

Shot To Death In A Stranger’s Bedroom

There was one
that seemed both a curse and a blessing
as I looked
the barrel of that forty-five.

None of this;
full of illicit loving,
was worth
giving up
for a night
with the neighbor’s wife.

The summer skies are falling
the rooftop sounds like drums,
it’s funny what
we notice when
our lives are
almost done


A puzzle missing a single piece is, essentially, unsolvable.

I looked at life like a rare and dangerous frog

Colored so brightly in my mind,

Neon red and orange warnings,

And I heard of things, hazardous

Vague, and disastrous,

I didn’t know they’d look like,

I didn’t know they’d act like,

I didn’t know they’d feel like,


Point of No Return

There’s not enough gas left in the tank,
nobody to call, not the lawyers,
not the bank, no parents left to pay the bail,
no friends, no lovers, no bosses,
no brothers, just you alone,
a ship with no sail,
a ripe fruit left out in the hail,
just you alone,
only one way: toward
a goal you never guessed,
ditch the car if you have to,
walk the last mile,
just keep moving forwards.

Red on your Lips

Like the interior curve of a rose petal,
The glisten on the fresh-slaked jackal,
Soft summer rays, the first blush of dusk,
The colors of flags beating new shores bloody,
Bombs exploding underfield, shaping
Plowshares into shrapnel, the flame
Breaking wild steel into shape,
The lusty lights downtown,
The stained glass halo, the
Fleeting brushstroke,

All profanities, blessings,
Creation, destruction,
Lips, eyes, thoughts,
Life, death, the shadows in-between,
The light outside,
And you.


Don’t try to count the grains of sand as they slip by your fingertips,
Try not to pay attention to the common calamities,
The empty cradles,
The full courtrooms,
The doctors bleeding their patients dry.
Don’t try to count the sparks erupting from the fire,
Try not to follow their journey through the open air,
Don’t worry when they sail, off towards some distant kindling,
Close your eyes, close your eyes,
Close your eyes.