and moon scrape the sky
appalling membrane:
punctured, riddled, folded, drawn
ended settling
whispered down to cold stone
open hole:
frosted and congealed
receives crumbling


it stings it burns the lip
it heaves to the cusp
when tomorrow brings you down
you get up go; you must

i don’t believe that anything’s impossible

there’s a body in the grass
its name is on your lips
there’s a halo on the moon
your memory resists

i don’t believe that anything’s impossible

the streets are wet with mud
we shuffle in the dark
where dogs and demons go
at least we played a part

i don’t believe that anything’s impossible
i don’t believe that anything’s impossible

The Body

Well you push it around with your mind,
And it makes you believe half the time.
A shuffling crust
Of photos and dust,
And a burlap sack covered with lime.

Benefits Waived

it begins angry
a ghost
gold around the edges
rotten at the core
gold of yesterday’s sunsets
benefits waived

i remember the wind’s sound in trees
free on my bike, as a child
not yet afraid

  • but war is coming

the trenches blacken with gore
angry holes slicken
with mud
tramped underfoot
by the legion’s boot

  • war is coming

sprung from my own breast
and fear
ugly, tooth and nail

  • i will be replaced
  • my body will be covered with lime
  • brought by the day’s reinforcements

Centipede II

across the deserts of the floor
up the walls, down the hall
in diligent segments proceed
a carnivore of the very small,
the vagrant centipede

not a watcher, not a waiter
proactive insect
both a leader and the led
he crawls the sands to find that promised land
where he can rest all hundred peds.

the morning light steals stories
out of night’s linty folds
another centipede curls dying near the wall
its thought complete, its slow race run
it dies, and dries, and crumbles into all

in the desert

untie the knots that bind you
upend the changers’ scales
you are not this aching circle
you are not this heart which fails

Adam’s dust in on your temples
David’s thirst is in your loins
you have crossed the sands to see Me
don’t forsake me for some coins!

for the charm of life is fleeting
often squandered, often bruised
and the one sin I can speak of
is the sin of life unused


the impulse to glory is hot
i know, i know, i know,
cause nothing else tells me to grow
do you have a clue where your money goes?
it’s ugly! it hurts!
let me go!

do you find that you spend
too much time, too much time,
too much time
wasted waiting to fly?
you can wander the earth
making love, giving birth
and try faking a smile when you die.

get away! get away!
run away! get away!
get away from this earth
that we hold
it is hungry and deep
leaves us nothing to keep
when we give ourselves up to the cold
when we scratch our names into that cold