Palm Poem

red will love whoever is around,

the steal toe boots of anxiety

carry jealousy jamming toast at 5am,

fear lives with John Brown in Oregon park,

blue borrowed a few more to compose clarity in minor

chords, peach pink sky sings the sunset away, sizzling

to mourn the frying night,                                                  (                       )

truth tastes sour in song,

i am sure you know what i mean

A Lesson About Gossip

I’m clutching my pillow

Climbing the latter to your roof

Stabbing my pillow and staring.

What I naturally see…


carried away    into the wind.

Now I know

if you were told

to gather every feather,

that bled in mist from my pillow, that

you would claim naturally

the cause to be lost.

And this doubt,

is the image of gossip

living only

as it must

the cool school

i will let my mind pretend for you,

pretending will take whatever

Sever lever

I better have

Met her


you labeled me with bait for 

it to be easy. i will dress like

a girl before going to war

Get you for

What no more        now poor

Are you         sore morning

Hangover     is gonna suck for

You.       Bore me.

Now let me for once sleep

The side walk has vacancy in hell

Look door ass hit out way please

The only ears willing to ease is

The disease to soon cease you

After that weep all you like

Take a hike   chippy dip shit yeah like

Split! Had it!!!

she never talked to me again.

Sophisticated Vegetable Bandits

my apologies fatigued are weakened

muscles, pretending embrace with the

cattle raids.

the trilogy forgetting the lens of

how i say, how i think inward

and fragile content.

the respect of tomorrows goals

go failed under burning eyelids, no one will

know what i say, the words

of treasury forgive the demand

yet again.

so let us not forget with the reeling

reality spaced together. the crave

is soft, images still devour

the lost connectivity, my forgotten

sentences in time come undone.

today he wishes me well, to wring

dry towels of such salty sweat.

the symbolic season has called

to hang the jury, the forgotten

boy who has faith will burn.

these pages are a spirit cancer, the

weather forecasts via the voice of t.v. dread,

the rain so lonely and pathetic.

this man wishes well the thief,

the maker of wrongly brave doing and

bitter decision, both completely

forgotten in time.

the paint of this mess writes

the script for the invisible face,

the varied chances of tried aspect.

the only wish to forget again

i must.

may i forever roll a bunk fag

for a god that inhibits.

i have baked all of my friends

inside sweet life’s chocolate lie.