It’s been years since it’s been little more then a haunting image on the back of my mind. I think about my brother David and find it hard to remember much except the horrific things that happened to him toward the end of his life. I remember playing cowboys and Indians with him and my other little brother with gun sticks and rocks until we were tired, bruised and bloody. I think that is my happiest memory. He was a quiet kid; ironically I became so after his death. Maybe it’s the fact that th...

I walked with you into the night naked I was as I proclaimed romance you must not have heard me for you only laughed maybe it was a passing thought not wanting to know changed the subject to coming storm I walked with you when you cried of love and loss for some reason mine the only available shoulder or the neon sign affixed to my forehead I walked with you when you fell sick old and frail whispering of failing health I helped you to your door and said good night Never once did you comment o...

If love were an ocean would I still brave the violent storm to search for you? As the waters of fear smashed my sail would I turn back, or die trying to reach you? At times you are within my grasp then the waves steal me away telling of danger and harm so I sail again toward you only to be turned away in despair when I grow tired of trying and wish I could change course the waters drift me closer to you not close enough to touch you but close enough to stir my heart once more Once again begin...

Its been years since its been little more then a haunting image on the back of my mind. I think about my brother and find it hard to remember much except the horrible things that happened to him toward the end of his life. I remember playing cowboys and Indians with him and my other little brother with gun sticks and rocks until we were tired, bruised and bloody. I think that is my happiest memory. He was a quiet kid, ironically I became so after his death. Maybe its the fact that there are n...

I miss you feel you breathing in my ear a step behind. I miss you never knew you Only cries Beneath that urine soaked Bathroom sink prison To Him you were Satan To me only David Remembering cowboys and Indians Before Dad became God stealing innocence away He spiraled down to madness we were evil you were Lucifer's son Did God's will, He preached I will always hear the screams And smell urine thinking of it. I remember when you died and I started you screamed He quieted you forever In that big...

Wind blows hard Sweeping me to Oz In white feather boa ruby slippers Tripping down yellow brick road Searching for the wizard Finding only little men In big pointy shoes. "There's no place like home" dancing the jig clicking ruby slippers looking odd in Dorothy's pink silk dress Home sweet dysfunctional home Mother Hubbard manic lullaby pondering lesser of two nightmares Damn the shoes damn the wizard I'm home tripping with the caterpillar on magic mushrooms watching Kansas fade far away insi...

If I were to write again dig out the old pen share my soul would you read it? Should I care? If I were to write again raking my words like fingers on a chalkboard sending chills to sleeping minds Striving as always to cause revulsion and spotaneous vomiting after reading my scrawlings which I take as a compliment Why should I write? words are but a cheap commodity bought and sold like some cheap infested whore on a back street corner I write So poetry can bleed academics howling restlessly ni...

If I were to write again dig out the old pen share my soul would you read it? Should I care? If I were to write again raking my words like fingers on a chalkboard sending chills to sleeping minds Striving as always to cause revulsion and spotaneous vomiting after reading my scrawlings which I take as a compliment Why should I write? words are but a cheap commodity bought and sold like some cheap infested whore on a back street corner I write So poetry can bleed academics howling restlessly ni...

The pen is drying ink solid black paste smearing page Thoughts like missing puzzle pieces just sit there laughing at the incompentance poetry a word losing its place among others worry, work, sadness gasping for breath will to write will to feel fading now only memory remains and I can barely recall what it was.

"Poet is Priest" The writing of poetry the most holy sacrament reverred above heaven and also below blessed be Ink the very breath of lyrical divine holy holy holy only thou are holy falling to knees clutcing chest weeping I alone am holy My pen divine My mouth divine My spit divine Father Blake Father wordsworth forgive me for I have sinned descration of the sacred into propfane blaspehmies saving me from hellish normality Holy The pen the very mouth of every god and so of my muse my object ...