The Luxury of Life

“Something there is, that does not love a wall.”  Nature, most likely.  A bit inside of us, indeed.  Slipping under the tightly coiled rock, slithering through the scenery.  The natural order of usurpers breaks free from the illusory chains at dusk to cut the wires and smash the hinges on gates for my apple orchard, and slowly rot away your peach stained masonry.  “Good fences make good neighbors” comes muttering from under the sighs of exhaustion; disguises consume our focus and energy, and steal the road away from the proper course.  It may be so, that sealing the traffic keeps … Continue reading The Luxury of Life


IT is quite apparent that this blog is drifting more and more towards the side of art than the formulated side of philosophy, following a trend in my life of the same.  Perhaps if the co-authors actually posted, there might be a variety in the methods of presenting information, but then again, perhaps not.  Even when I am not pushed to express my thoughts in the form of poetry, I do not default to strict rules of rational thought.  I’m not entirely convinced that the world we feel and touch and smell is what we think.  We attach so much … Continue reading Χάος

May we trade the Knight for the Gay

There is fear, Lurking in the shadows. Silently stalking its prey in place, Unafraid of discovery by air. Hope soars, With feathers floating, Reaching out towards The dark beast. Earth is burned, Life long forgotten from its land. Winds dance, Grabbing up the dust, Twisting and celebrating What could have been used to be. Water flows on the horizon, Pretending to promise the wayward travelers The long drink, Drip. Evaporate. Drop. Steam rises. Silent sounds of expectation: The dry rock reverberates and echoes The ache of the vapid oasis. Wise men cometh, Casting stones meant for walking corpses. Instead reaching … Continue reading May we trade the Knight for the Gay

How to call my voice

There’s a trip coming up in my life. But it’s no vacation. More of a safari To hunt the most elusive entity Ever to leave tracks on this dirt: Me. You see, I can’t write. I don’t know what poetry is, Because I don’t know who I am. Fuck all that noise about an age limit on writers, Life doesn’t work that way. You don’t put in 30 years to get a promotion of wise proportions. We just get old and settle down, Wherever we last walked to. Ended up here, And “Hey, The view isn’t bad”. But I can’t … Continue reading How to call my voice

Ms. Ruth

I like to bring my dogs to this abandoned lot by my house in the morning. With a cup of coffee to eject me from my lingering dreams. They seem to enjoy it, On a rather obvious and simple level. But I have ulterior motives. In all honesty, I don’t just bring them there to see their tails wag or smiles break through their fangs. No, they’re there to help me hunt for toads. I still haven’t found any, And I’ve been looking for quite some time. Hope is starting to wear thin. Today, though, there was an open invitation, … Continue reading Ms. Ruth


I’m reading this book, you see, That in turn seems to be doing its part, In the writing of me. The weevil has burrowed deep, And now comes and goes, As he sees fit, Hollowed out my memories for tunnel space. He whispers for miles in my ears, Lifts my legs to the pulse of the words. And it’s all moving too fast for me to be Able to grab ahold of all these cars, These trains of thought That run too close, Or far enough to have to run Just to catch, A train? When did the horse whip … Continue reading Untitled

Skylight in the Brick Tower

Condensed to a singularity that brings about an end to the attempts to escape and simultaneously redelivers the soul on the doorstep of hope, a chance to breathe slips in from the cold grasp that pushes down and pulls up. The walls we toss up to protect our ideas from the harsh winds and bitter glares of the Hyperionic watchman serve as a double-edge, stealing away from us our self-endowed freedom, so that we may have something to strive for and something to push against; we deprive ourselves of the chaos of all truths, but something puts air in-between the … Continue reading Skylight in the Brick Tower