A Free Man, A True Man, A Good Man

20 Aug

A free man knows no masters

He will not wear a dress

even when under duress

a free man knows who he is

where he began and will end

A true man has no allegiance

no rigid oath restricting his talk

and no shackles to limit his walk

A good man has no fear

living his life in good cheer

available to the beggar

and the thief

without binding himself to either

I hope to be as free

as true

and as good

as I can be

answering only to the breath

that enters my lungs


don’t let the details get you down

19 Aug

a small little voice spoke to me

as i hustled about losing patience

with an exasperating universe of

missed connections and garbled notes

“don’t let the details get you down”

the voice said,

release your grip and float

sometimes i fear that if i don’t manage

the world will crush me underneath

if every knob isn’t turned to exactly the right point

if my actions are loose then i may lose my life

i can’t read all these instructions for the print is so small

and my mind is too concerned with death

no pain, no panic, my last moments will be filled with

confusing details impossible to manage

“don’t let the details get you down”

trust in that which you cannot fix

feel how good it is to just be alive

tenderness between strangers

19 Aug

i turned my head and she was

sitting there expectantly

for another intimate stranger

to arrive

i had wanted to rush over and

let her know but

then i’d be a stranger no more

tenderness between strangers

is a strange affair

it can feel so soft and natural

as if every other experience were

disposable except for this

and if we were to become friends, well

the tenderness would have a text

a beginning, and an end

whereas when tenderness occurs

between two strangers

the story has not yet been written

all is clear and absolute

for those precious moments

Better off dead

18 Aug

Better off invisible

Better off silent

Better off drifting off

Better off AWOL

Better off written off

Better off lost

Better off slowly wasting away

Better off dead

No more noise and opinion

No more sharp edges

Just emptiness



nothing can stay nothing for long

before it becomes something again

back into the fray

of pain and love and joy and

never knowing why

fearing the blankness from which we came

Better off? There is no better and no worse in truth

only this

and this

and this

receding into an overflowing


Fragments of joy, pieces of pretty

18 Aug

If I stop the constant drumbeat of pain for just a moment

maybe i can be happy again

I get dragged down by the harsh wind

of people who have lost the capacity to care

but still, here and there among the discarded

Fragments of joy, pieces of pretty

something I can hold in my hand and remember

Within these things are truth and beauty

The deluge of emotional sludge which threatens us

in the midst of our daily lives

is the slow and steady healing from the

self inflicted cuts and bruises

our self loathing mirrored in the headlines

Fragments of joy, pieces of pretty

occasionally appear in the gutter

and can be plucked up and held up to the Sun

repaired and loved

gather them and hold them close

to remind yourself that all is not dead

all is not lost


17 Aug

Are there words that crush bones?

Is there a caress that tears into your flesh?

a kiss that can suck out your breath?


better left in the wild where it belongs

where there is no pity, only pointless death

no grieving, only emptiness

and searching for prey

with those uncaring eyes which see everything

and hands that grab without warning

taking it all from you

leaving only a helplessness

curled up naked, bruised and bleeding


cannot be tamed into a fragile friendship

feral belongs to a time long ago

before we even knew who we were

when killer and captured

were the choices and

our lives were short

and the danger never left us



Ain’t that a kick in the head

17 Aug

Have you ever had someone

cling to your ear like a leech?

telling you vicious stories

that eat into your skin like

some kind of vile decomposing sap

from a tree that has stood

by itself in a desert

for so long that

it’s leaves are filled with resentment

and it’s bark burns the skin

and it’s roots are all dead

Ain’t that a kick in the head

Ain’t that a punch in the nuts?

When this person finds his way inside

talking to you all through the night and day

about all the things he hates

drilling holes in your bones

wanting you to feel what he feels

A guy can’t let these kinds of people

set up camp inside his heart and head

it’s too much for anybody to handle

Ain’t it a kick in the head?


when you had your guard down

he sprays his pain all over your face

and it hits you hard

like a slap, a punch, a kick

in your guts, in your nuts

up side your head?

i seem to remember a path

16 Aug

i seem to remember a path

narrow, twisting, turning one way

then another, hard to follow

hardly even a path at times.

i remember taking this path

on hot summer days, all by myself

when time did not exist

dusty, and i recall holding the grasshopper

it’s brown juice flowing from it’s mouth

as it’s mighty legs kicked against my hand

and i would release this beast into the wind

soon i found a tree leaning over a small creek

the shadows lovingly invited me to

stop and let the world spin on

without me

i watched the black beetle with the

magnificent pincer walk clumsily

down near the water

i felt the sweat in my hair

and i soon returned to the path once again

for i had far to go

and i am journeying still

the sun is hot and i am thirsty

perhaps there will be a shadowy glen

around the next bend

and cool refreshing water

but today i walk upon this path

a bit farther

Dear Mr. Parkinson

15 Aug

Dear Mr. Parkinson

Please don’t send any more disease

to this address

he doesn’t live here anymore

Dear Mr. Parkinson


He told me he had enough already

to please the most demanding director

he could create real tears for any scene

but it was the unintentional comedy

he most dreaded

it was as if all the grotesque faces

all the weird contortions

had turned on him to seek their revenge

so Please Mr. Parkinson

No more phone calls asking

For the deed has been done

No more tricks Please, Mr. Parkinson

No more fear

Just stay away from here

Please, won’t you Please

on a lighter note

14 Aug

on a lighter note

a billy goat climbs up the Eiffel Tower

and pissing upon the tourists replied

ha ha I lied! I was never going to give any of you a Christmas present


goats are offended by our pride, you see

and our perpetual pointing into the sky

expected some kind of reward for

not doing something selfish for once

but now i see this note

rings false

jarring and unpleasant to the ear

you are such a lovely lot of flesh

carving up the meat for an evening of pleasure

headless of the cost of such a grievous loss

just a joke, just a silly remark

no need to take offense

on a lighter note

let me stick my finger up your ass

and check for signs of life

let me press my lips to your mouth

and suck all the air from out your lungs

you heartless bastards

the note hangs heavily in the courtyard

and the tourists blame the guide

this is not the place we were promised in the brochure

on a lighter note

this is just a poem, so

who the hell cares?


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