This morning I cast my heart into the flames
and licked my lips as the embers curled
I saw visions of childhood ideals in the smoke
matching scarves and a brick paved road
That night I was visited by a specter
and the phantom pain throbbed so lucidly
It dissipated into the eye of the twilight
before I could ask about its borrowed face
Now every day is waking up to a crawling numbness
because all emotion has evacuated
I play the notes but the harmony’s in disarray
like the solitary strands of hair in your favorite brush
still ruminating atop my bedroom dresser


July 4th

As sparks of fire ignite the sky
From here to there to each passerby
The summer fever reaches its peak
Gunpowder birds bring joy in their beaks

I do wonder if there is a cost
Do we prosper only when others have lost?
For every saint, for every knave
Is there another at his grave?

If God dost reward and pain allay
He too punishes and takes away
I stared at the abyss and saw a face
A tempered soul with a longing gaze

It spoke: “Live! For the moment is yours
In your life, you will fight many wars
There will come a time you’re at the brink
A chalice called hope, you must drink

Lest every martyr and every joy misplaced
All their sacrifices will lay in waste
Look once more upon the silver night
And seize that which is yours by right


my father’s advice comes to mind
but this is no band aid to be removed
with a quick sleight of hand
as the words finally come out
your lips curl back, trembling
it feels like the kiss of Winter
upon an open wound

did I cut too close to the bone
a question I will forever ask in silence
haunted by the sight of your drowning eyes
screaming in confusion, helpless
as the scorched earth beneath your feet
gives way before the weight of the world

when love does not work the way it was supposed to
it wears you down like a bath of acid
is it brave or cynical to say that at least
we learned to be more careful in the future

the blood will dry
the scars will heal
but I will always remember
your face that day


When we met I was at your heels
worrying over minutes we did not share
Eventually all empires must kneel
to you that was just standard fare

We said we’d look past each other’s flaws
at all the glory promised behind
You said my heart was untested and raw
but that it would harden up in time

Looking back I can’t help but wonder
if we could have gone all the way
Those little fights would have pulled us under
But with hindsight that’s easy to say

Now I am a king without a crown
only nostalgia to warm my chest
These daily dreams I cannot drown
about the girl I’ve laid to rest



The city that never sleeps
24/7 plug in and play
Thousands of techno sheep
entranced in social dance

Neon enclave honeycombs
the mist of liquor never far
The answer to tomorrow’s worries
buried in a stranger’s arms

Standing at the edge of the world
the skyline lays itself bare
Even though all that I see
apparitions of former lovers

What is this sinking emptiness
the loss of innocence or something more
Introspective candy echoing away to void
In my veins a shrill scream that no one hears

As the sun begins to rise
clad in a suit of golden armor
Infinite in its valor
I sink into dawn’s embrace


There’s nothing quite like understanding another human being.
I mean, we exchange words.
Stories, experiences, confessions.

But how often can a person say:
“I know what you’re feeling,” and actually mean it
before a single syllable has been uttered?

How often do two people conceive the same image?
Perhaps there are minor differences
and some of it is lost in translation
but can we ever really see what the other envisions?

I argue,
The greatest art form is neither seen nor heard.

It is in that delicate space,
that 4th dimension created
when the eyes of two unwitting strangers meet for the first time.

It oscillates violently amidst the silence shared
by two momentary lovers sitting adjacent on the morning commute.

But the greatest tragedy of it all?
The only way to comprehend this beauty,
to be able to write of its wonders
to be able to sing of its sorrows

is to have fallen completely in love
and lost it.


Daughter of paternal alcoholism
Sister to irony and self-contempt
Sometimes she’ll question the direction of her life
as she tries to recall who she gave head to last night
Boys in blue blazers comfort her
with testosterone-laced words
They’re as empty as the faces
of her favorite childhood dolls
She feels the weight of the pen against her skin
The cheap thrills and old habits that die hard
Her alt rock CDs keep her company
and perhaps a little liquor on the side
Just to help with the nightmares, you know
and keep the family tradition alive