Taste of the Ocean

And outside, the suns explode–
white hot nails, assault fire–
perforate the walls, flesh,
bones and blood
the taste of the ocean within me.

Paralyzed, my penitence,
to watch you leave
our home,
watch the floods distend,
unravel the rusted empty where
we never were.

I climb the walls,
a pocket of air, pressed
beneath the roof, this house
stronger than our home.
I tried and
I tried, alone.

Don’t worry, I’ll be
breathing liquid pollution,
vacant-eyed memories drift by,

And outside, the suns explode,
perforate the walls, flesh,
draining, a gush,
a rush to the bottom,
rich silt feeds my landscape,
by white hot nails.

Hair like muddy seaweed,
the taste of the ocean within me,
I lie, spent and still,
atop a new foundation–


Submitted for Open Link Night #87 at dversepoets.com


Awake Alone

A low, distant whine
crescendo and crash, can’t sleep–
night’s howling windstorm.

The blue rushing wind
far better than silence, the
deafening silence.

I know I won’t sleep,
with the air stirred up so, the
moon near her fullest.

No clean, quick-healing
cuts, this mess I’ve made, my life
mangled to a pulp.

I open the door,
invite both inside where I lie,
Moon caressing my feet,
Wind playing its lullaby.

She said, do not be
afraid to go deeper. You’re
not bloody enough–

Forehead to the earth,
arms embraced wide, I admit:
I can’t do this alone.

The rage passes, trees settle,
wind chimes sing
a last dissonant chord and
I hope this means sleep,
the escape, for me.

Submitted for Open Link Night #86 at dversepoets.com


Go home
leave me be
go home
to your life–
your wife, your playmates, your toys
your grown up games
my heart can’t play

take back your fantasies
of us
the romantic, sweet
hungry, fevered
passionate, rough
everything I need
and I will never have

take back your love
(un)believably genuine
unmet, unfulfilled
ultimately pointless

I am weary, dear
give me
one last pleasure–
go home


The prompt for this week’s Poetics at dVerse “The Art of Letting Go” reminded me of this poem I wrote last year. The weariness one feels the moment before letting go… Enjoy.


If you can feel me,
feel me now
If you can hear me,
hear me as your own thought
look up, look around
for I am

standing in an open field
parched, scrubby weeds
scorched by short shadows
arms wide
come to me
to me

but the world recedes
you recede
and vastness surrounds me

I am left
every time she comes for you
I am left
and left

if you can hear my cries
in your unguarded dreams,
my silent pleas, tight,
behind my tongue
hear me now

but I am receding
every time she comes for you
there is less
and less
of me.


Submitted to OpenLink Night #82 at dversepoets.com


The year’s end…years end…
and we have, they were
a dozen some and thousands more

still to fall, to fill
oceans up to the horizon
sinking heart drowning in

a state I must inhabit
carrying this load, through
deserved icy winds
by choice…

buffered only by this
thin cloak, holes picked through by
nervous fingers, doubting
the risks…

this sputtering flame
will be enough to melt
the frostbite forming on
my feet…

shifting ground, uprooted
I stumble, turn my ankle
bloody hands, my will calls:
you must rise…

accept help, a solo journey
is never really solo
birthed forward, through pain
let them gather…

carry your light until you can
unwrap your cloak, threads
falling behind
one fiber remaining–

as lessons…lessons.


Submitted for OpenLinkNight 77 at dversepoets.com


Joy surrounds me but doesn’t reach my heart.
Wishes of peace stopped short by chaos.
Morning sun is still down, night not yet
releasing its grasp.

I drive in the driving
fat rain, deserted streets,
aimless to nowhere,
sitting beside Alone,
welcomed passenger,
and we reminisce about:

Wet, twilight days, in younger years,
homes trimmed in multicolored ice,
warm fires, warm cookies,
warm hugs.

Alone states the obvious: Absence
in the back seat.

Faster, between harder raindrops,
we return to an abandoned house,
from whence we began.

Alone and Absence and I
join Deafening Silence,
raise our wine-filled coffee cups
to toast one another.

And outside, snow coats
the foothills of evergreens,
heavy clouds hide Merry
fucking Christmas.

Submitted for OpenLinkNight #76 at dversepoets.com


“…I’m cutting myself
into pieces…”, she said
part realization, part confession

she studied her reflection
strange, distorted
in her lukewarm tea, leaves
floating in and out of focus,
muck at the bottom

the furrow in her brow
matched my own
a confirmation

“…that’s what I’m doing…”, she said
hand-selected, neatly packaged
the binding ribbon
for each man’s desire

“…into pieces…”, she said

nobody’s whole
no one’s only