The white—momentary, nearly lost in various blue: just a tiny slice of sky. The sun had already set. Smeared blue becoming bluer and bluer, then purple, then sleepy purple, then black. But that momentary white! Changing sky. I was the only one t...

What does the sky hold that the space between my ears can’t?Bark sloughs off the tree, and grass grows beneath it,and flowers attract bees.Work is force times acceleration. When the book closes,only darkness reads its pages.When I close my eyes ...

While in a distance,         —though, admittedly, not fearfully—I toured and toured—not fitfully—while considering, fruitlessly, a mind full of gravity. Or gravitas.Where was I, after all?The spaces t...

~~*~~I renounce Colorado, and Fort Collins, where I was raised.I renounce both utterly.I tell folks now my hometown is Imperial Beach, California.Because that is where my true life started.~~*~~Hours after a windfall and a tree’s rustling leaves,a pa...

Too often the “great” are called so out of the cesspool’s need and no other reason.How they got that way isn’t questioned. To the cesspool, “great” is amoral. It is nothingmore than one’s seismic significance to the subsurface turds. A great good and...

Simply playing with my bricksmakes no sense to me.You insist that walking on themwill scuff your shoes,and that if I understood your needsI wouldn't push you. You refuse to look at my sunshine,complaining that it hurts your eyes,that my sunrises...

She presses against me.The small of her back is a question mark.Clothing between my hands and her soft skin.A fetish renewed.A dream realized.She has no idea—which is how it should be.She has no idea; and I have lime desire—desire against hers, desir...

Beneath the chatter of these twisting, spastic days ...beneath the toxic tweetsand the monstrous resharesthe blaring memesand the naked revelationsmultiplied by millionsas people reveal who they truly are,what they are truly made of,the slow, thick s...

There is a light—steady, unwavering, real.Beyond real.Greater than.Does it matter what I call it?Does if matter if I call it anything at all?It is always there—even when I can't see it.Or maybe I should say:even when my soul can't see it. There ...

The difficulty of these days is cubedwith consciousness.Which tells you just how unconscious most people are. Ours is a middle-school-stunted species.Few ever truly grow up.Most remain in the 7th grade,concerned with popularity and status,concer...

This poem has held up terrifyingly wellsince I first wrote it in 2020.Incredibly terrifyingly well.We refuse to learn, and call that refusal sanity,to riff off of Einstein.And oh, look!Another election cycle is upon us,now fortified with AI!~~*~~Exis...