Clamor and climb the city life
Lovely nightlights of needles & towers
A beacon bright brightly flashing flashy city
Miners minstrels & playthings, all that glitters...
Break for the Meadows, its inns & outlaws,
Each hot breath of loss, another moth.
Roll the Die in neon fires—it’s paradise lost.

The coroner’s merry little children
Have such twinkling brown eyes.
Their father is not of gay men
And their mother jocular in no wise,
Yet the coroner’s merry little children
  Laugh so easily.
They laugh because they prosper.
Fruit for them is upon all branches.
Lo! how they jibe at loss, for
Kind heaven fills their little paunches!
It’s the coroner’s merry, merry children
  Who laugh so easily.

she chips away the wallpaper with her fingernails
she complains in butchered spanish
no food for two days
she is not her stomach
she sleeps through the grumbling
dreaming about christmas

fluent flume
scribble and scrawl
ink stains slither
wriggle and crawl
Across the page
fluidly fall
mind spilling, scattered
no semblance at all.

to be loved for just a moment
in another place
one made outside myself
to forget the lingering
hatred etched in my soul
to just for a moment
let the cobwebs go
i think that might be enough

These times apart seem such a strain,
a heartfelt emotional loss;
But now we must think of the common good,
and fulfill a worthwhile cause.

People wracked with pain and suffering,
an ominous sign for retreat;
Yet just when we most need intimacy,
this intensity bears repeating.

The smartest move is not to move,
and remain inside for awhile;
We'll see one another soon enough,
when powerful sources quash the fire.

Still our minds take a daily route,
through webs of life's complexities;
And wonderment will fill the ache,
if hope can set our spirits free.