A Silent Night At Sotheby’s: A Poem

Allow me to plant portraits in your mind. Angles with proper perspective and brush-stroked brilliance. Let it appreciate in value. Lock it into glass cases reflecting from your eyes. Blink. Savor the spectrum. Keep it as an inheritance. Unsold… Untouched… Eternal. Advertisements

Poem: Oral Tradition

There’s a love I know. It was handed down to me from Elders and Shamans with ayahuasca breath. It wraps around my soul with tendrils dripping dewdrops upon a melancholy morn. I dare not write it. But if you allow me a moment to whisper to you it can be reproduced.

Poem: Housekeeping For The Cluttered Mind

My Grandmother was a Housekeeper… Hardened hands and feet christened in bleach and boiling water. Stooping and climbing, cleaning baubles she would never own. Her aching limbs soaked nightly in scripture and circadian affliction, silently teaching that I would always need ointment for bruises seen and unseen, an anxious ink pen eager to describe them,…

Poem: Black & Grey

If all goes well I’ll be an Old Man some day. Submersed in molten Silver, forged in the crucible of time. My skin: a breathing labyrinth, creased and paper-like. Making origami rocking chairs with you at my side.

Skin: A Short Story About Beauty

Vera was the darkest girl in town. She was reminded of this often. Usually in jest, or by some other poor child spouting hatred through frustration. Lottie, her Mother, was dark too, but unlike Vera she had a smooth tone to her skin. It was supple and burnished, like a rivulet of honey brown chocolate…

Poem To An Alcoholic Friend

I wish they could have bottled Farewells. I would have offered them to you years ago, pleading and prostrated in the temple of our friendship. You could have sipped that instead. Tasted the bitter brew of Bereavement, and decided never to drink again.

Narcissus Vs. The Internet: A Poem

Validate my signal. Acknowledge my binary code in a world of fleshly indifference. Like me. Share me. Babysit my ego in your conscience. Critique me Qualify my catalog with the hearts and upward thumbs of the body politic. Nurse me. Treat me in the hospice of opinion. As I find a way to assimilate.

The Mistress & The Martyr (A Very Short Story)

“I did it!” Marvin said, an expectant smile on his face. “Did what?” Belinda mumbled, her eyes focused on the television. “I told her. I told her everything. About you, about us. We’re free now!” Belinda mutes the television, stares at the wall like it’s a crystal ball. “Oh… why’d you do that? I thought…

Poem: Lungs

To me You are oxygen… All that matters yet somehow overlooked. Without you I would ascend into memory. Trapped in time like the sands of an hourglass… Longing for a moment, a temporal touch. Suffocating. Squandering all because I could not let you in.

Like Father, Like Daughter

The second time Brenda attempted suicide she knew within seconds that she had failed. The blood wasn’t as thick as before, and the dizziness came in indecisive crests and troughs, like a tug-of- war between her will and reality. From the hall, her Mother’s pummeling on the bedroom door grew louder, more desperate, undulating her…