You have to be young
to disappear…
and healthy enough
to fall into the cracks
of a new tomorrow

You have to be young
to isolate…
and strong enough
to brave the winter
of a new becoming

A strange pattern for
writing has come
to me lately.
The skeletons of
poems form when I
lie down for a nap.
Sleep always calls,
and bones want to
dance and grow skin.
Lilacs bloom, and I feel
the inner thigh of
eternity, soft and wet.

I can't get any rest.
I have to jot down the
notes or they turn
to ashes and blow away,
or, they are buried deep in
mud and slumber,
impossible to dig up.

I sleep with a notebook and
pen, as I drift off,
I whisper to the tortured
bones,
don't cry and try not to worry.
I'll bring you to life.

passion is the abstraction of the heart in your head

Just playing with words
Kamakura snow
Misty Seattle rain
I don't really know

Fatherhood is difficult
And I love them so
Courage going forward
Yoko yo yo yo yo!

in my solitude
relentlessly I age
time tick tocks
slowly turn the page

not too good at friendship
all she is is rage
Mr. Johnny Cash
Break My Rusty Cage