you look like a girl
I used to love
with Argentina eyes
stormed in otherworldly
hues of stolen innocence
and violence
her voice was religious
a choir of monks
thundering across 
an overgrown courtyard,
like Satan’s song hung
in the rafters of a
you smell like her,
primrose and brimstone,
a wicked little

gold and poetry

I do not skulk through 
your den,
sifting and rifling,
re-writing your lines,
suggesting rhyme schemes,
we are not friends,
writers write
actors act
our only kindred tie
is language
we are poets
though your ego
shouts like a child yelling
look at me,
whispering now
sweet and tender
these words of ours
will go down
neither in history or
but in good
old fashioned ink
the wealthy poet
is a dead

earth worms in august

this is not a passing storm
cursing and stomping
blowing over
this is not 
a cool cloth against
your angst
this is your funeral
and I’ve been standing here
trying to write your

the day is made of sheet metal
it ripples and thunders
around me

there is nothing to say
you are dead
to me

the stance of a man

You said I put him high
above you,
on a pedestal-
darling, he was born
a better man
than you will ever
I didn’t put him
you dwell in shadows
feeding like a night thing
lying to the world
to yourself
your minions are fickle
quivering in the fear
of being alone,

they believe in you-

they will believe anything,
but you were never a
burning muse to

spots on the moon

splayed brain
a map of the universe
of the places I’ve been
in REM
morning coffee 
morning autopsies
to find strength and
of who I might
have been
dawn breaks black
and blue
these days shove against
me leaving contusions
everything is not
I say it is
over and over
my splayed


just a little something

I am an abandoned asylum,
every breath howls 
between the spaces inside,
they are screams 
in the hall,
no one is home,
the light went out,
someone warned me once
to carry a crimson ember,
my palms are calloused,
I am numb,
even the longest trails
end somewhere,
and the trees sometimes
sway too far
They fall
silently, as far as you know,
if you knew how to listen-

you would hear them screaming
you would hear the crashing
you would hear the saplings


I do.


I died again
six days ago,
it hurt more
than last time
and I grow back

I have new eyes
my mouth is sharper
my feet are
braver now

I’m leaving again
I’m leaving for good

this time

done for now.


Can’t post until further notice since I am being harassed and all of my shit is being reblogged with insane comments. 

Have a nice weekend, folks. Hopefully, the powers that be here will take care of this soon. 


My fan mail and ask is off bc I too get harassed here and have since I started years ago. Don’t let them bother you…they go after people who write things of value. You are a talented writer and I enjoy reading your work. It make me feel less alone. Please don’t leave bc of ignorant haters. 


what lies dormant in the still
your face,
between what you do
say, and the
fallen silence that
expands between us?

I  see something

stretching the edges
of your October eyes,
I ask you and you say
I love you I love you I love you
that’s all, there’s nothing
and I love you,

there is nothing

in the breaks of dawn
at the end of the days
around lovers, profound
eclipses, then

the sky mourns
and I search the spaces 
of your I love yous

there is nothing

A Beautiful Night (Sandbridge VA Ocean front)
-acrylic on canvas

A Beautiful Night (Sandbridge VA Ocean front)

-acrylic on canvas