Eternal Rock

Words march goose stepping to the songs of Jesus

Invisibly his friend Holy Ghost played the bass

God clapped his hands and made dust

which still covers Oklahoma

Texas and Nebraska

Thank Moses for some bluegrass music.


Maybe Tomorrow

Sitting alone on a gray cat morning

my disease needling quietly a deep desire

to open the brown bottle, white (child proof of course) lid.

Two or twenty pills, what’s the difference?

No one’s home here.  My fingers blue

like a dark and blistered sky waiting

for an oncoming storm.  My head begs for reprieve.

Tomorrow is a different ache, a different death awaits.


A star in a mahogany night

shines darker than before.

I can’t remember the last time

I’ve looked up into the ink.

You and I rode this back road as kids

your arm on my neck,

lips burning into my skin

we would stop, lights off

stare into the night

where that same bright star amidst the speckled

meant something different, we dreamt of love,

dancing on a gravel road, and passion.

Now there is something gone

maybe it’s just my fading eyesight

or something I’ve forgotten.

Butrus’s War

A young boy in Somalia named Butrus cries over his mother’s corpse.  While walking down a dirt road carrying food to her children Aziza came face to face with a jeep full of armed militia.  Despite the guttural catcalls and sexist ranting Aziza held her head high and turned her face away.  She was less than a kilometer away from home when the jeep full of vile soldiers stopped.  The young woman found herself immediately on the ground and six men roughly ripping at her clothing.  Each of the six men body slammed her against the hard earth and each of the six men raped her, not once, but several times until spent.

Aziz’s vagina had been cruelly ripped, so damaged blood poured between her legs as the soldiers stared at her with disgust.  They laughed and sneered until the man with the longest beard aimed his pistol at the beautiful Aziza and pulled the trigger.  The band of vagrant militants hastily jumped back into the jeep and rushed away blowing dirt and rocks onto the body of their victim to further debase the body for which just moments before, they hungered.

Butrus heard a shot and saw in the distance an upheaval of dust.  He feared for his mother and his two sisters, but ran towards the ruckus in spite of danger.  He found her.  There before him was his life, his future, and his only security.  His mother’s corpse covered with dirt and blood stared vacantly into a vacant universe.  Such is life at the hands of hate. Butrus’s story is over.  His sisters’ story is over with the cynical smile of starvation bearing down on the small children with each day that passed.

I am Night

Sunshine is no comfort

daylight belongs to others

I am night and moonlight madness

pathways and cobwebs

spiders creep through my hair

night sounds so much more

the chary owl turns one eighty

to kiss his jet black rat

restless sleep takes me to a place

where I stumble on the voices in my head.

A World Cremated

Death is a happy meal, surprise.

Five years maybe more, no one knows

for sure, you won’t be ready.

But Mother Earth doesn’t count the days.

She knows only when the shovel slaps

the green grass beneath her. “I love you so,”

Her last words to an old man’s ashes.

Some cry, others stare at their watches,

I’m hungry,” says a world on fire.


Acne covered moon

would a clean night

clear your face?

Or are the scars


like scars of rape,


or addiction?

I wonder

if you see the pebbles

in my soul?


Indian summer sweat

yellow green and orange

leaves line the gutter

waiting each its turn

to blow away

maple wings spin


in a war of reproduction

just dried seeds


and Indian summer sweat


the beginning never ends.