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Quiet thoughts from a noisy mind. 

The Corpse

He rots on the street

In front of my apartment,

Golden and crackling. 


Asks Mrs. Ennui

Behind the laminate desk. 

No, my parents'. 

Seventeen years to kill; 

Two months more to dispose of. 

My sister's guilty, really

(That's not all true, 

I bashed his head in once, 

Until he seeped out lifeblood

And it boiled on his brow). 

Insert sigh. 

This oily 

Relic of an afterthought

Is decaying in my parking spot. 



Big serpent

Side to side

With us in its belly

All of us 

Who look back at all of us

And then there’s yellow

Yellow on yellow on yellow

Yellow in yellow and yellow of yellow or yellow by yellow with Yellow in between

I’ve never met these folks inside this snake

And yet here we are

Side to side

I can see clear to Piccadilly from the last seat

Her cousin across the sea

The one I know only slightly better

Is rowdier, 

He shows his colors

Bare to the sun

But is rarely ever eats his fill. 

Now she burrows down 

And to the side 

The tunnel collapses and shakes

Like an arching cat back wriggling in a bear trap 

Then maybe she comes back up again

(I’m referring to the snake)

Does she ever get angry about how noisy her stomach gets

Or does she listen in like a fly on the wall 

Like I do

Selective listener

Side to side

Our today home 

Taking us home 

but we will be back again tomorrow.

Activism Then

A pair of insurrectionists

Lay quietly in their cots,

The hopes of new tomorrows

Prancing through their thoughts.

The first turned upon his side,

To pose a question tall,

“Listen my good comrade,

Are you not scared at all?”

The second shot up like a kite

In an effort to be brave,

“Be strong my friend, we’re in the right!

By justice are we saved!”


Fate downed quickly o’er the two,

As reckoning so often will,

T’was the day for righteous rebels

The tyrants blood to spill.

The first had started yelling,

But now sheepishly he hid,

For having spotted corpses, he thought,

“Am I to end as him?”

The second had taken to reciting

Their manifesto verse by verse,

Though “justice and equality”

Were sounding slightly worse.


By now the blood began to curdle

And the muskets cracked like whips;

Another round of mother’s sons

Let last cries past their lips.

Thankfully our heroes two,

Had found a shelled out inn.

The first was heaving quiet sobs,

The second napping through the din.

“Oh I’m a fool for coming!”

Wailed the once impudent first.

“Shuddup a second!” griped his friend,

Whose rest was being accursed.


And crash! Their barricade came down,

And the silhouette there stood

And the pompous soldier raised his sword

And charged blind at what he could.

And hero the first shrieked in prayer

And the second’s blood mid-thoughts

And the rabble-rousers collapsed like dung

And their guns and fury forgot.

But lo! As repentance escaped their lips,

Heaven smiled in cheek,

The soldier blindly slashed a beam,

Transforming inn to heap.


At last the noise of fighting

Cascaded to a halt.

Dead livid serfs and bourgeoisie

Both equally at fault.

The heroic pair of partisans

Rolled out from ‘neath their fort.

The smell of ball and powder

Had them feeling out of sorts.

The first began to dust his coat,

And assured he was unscathed.

Each gave the other a foolish grin.

Now that justice’s path was paved.


“Why my friend I’d nearly quit;

Hope nearly had run adry!”

“Not so my ever faithful chap,

T’was your pluck that kept us ‘live!”

And so the pair saluted,

As contented patriots might,

When a cause so preached and duly earned.

Can be forgotten by that night.

Into the eve they took their paths,

To wives, and drink, and home.

Their duties done, a vict’ry won!

And someone’s blood atoned!

Little Brother

He’s an unheld firehose,


He pushes our buttons

Like a game.

His eyes shrink

To devious wrinkled slits.

His voice is the tenor trumpet

Of a fourteen year-old;

It paints the walls

With sandpaper

As it bounces

To each of our ears.

To him,

The salt of our frustration

Is sugar in his oatmeal.

Benj wants me to play.

His hands pinch my shoulders

Like a clamp and

Shake them like a sapling.

He still smells as a child

Who plays in the yard all day.

Have you been to Bahia, Boosh Dawg?

No? Come, let’s go!

He’s hypnotized by his imagination

For a moment

Quiet as a hiding hamster

And the train of thought pulls out

Of the station again.

He’s tugging at my sleeve.

What a dingus, he says.

(If I listen, he won’t ever

Leave me be again)

I fink I’ll go bug Larlee again,

She’s a bumpkin.

Bored with me, 

He exits stage right.

The quavering valve of anxious thoughts

Turns his soprano lilt flat.

Reclined on the bed I strain

Not to laugh, working horizontally;

Now he ricochets

Like a ping pong ball in a space station.

Boosh Dawg just wants

To look at his phone.

He will play this game

For hours.

He is a genius without a plan,

But this is planned

And not so genius.

Bounce, kick, 

Bounce, kick, 

Bounce, whoosh.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

Triste hermanito,

The ball evades his foot,

Dancing down the stairs.

The hose has burst. 

To Bury a Son

I wonder

If I have

Wondered enough

What it is like

To bury a son.

To feel the well


To feel the waves


And crash

And hurt

Aching at the roofs of mouths

And stinging backs

Of eyelids.


I can blink back dewdrops

All night

And never know.


I will not ask my father

What it is

To lose a daughter

Just like he

Never asked his

Nor his father his

For fear

It would happen



I can imagine it aches

Like a throbbing homesickness

And the skull-pounding

Of a cold waterfall

But done alone.


God knows,

I suppose,

But I don’t want Him

To show me

How to watch

A son’s burial.


What about the others?

A friend

A brother

A lover

Does it still chap the heart

To know that

Tomorrow is not

An empty hole,

But a filled one?


With what was a son.


I hope I wonder long enough

So God will let me

Count my fictitious,

Vicarious burden

As enough

So I can

Cry with her

And them

Who opened hearts

To a boy gone soon

In front of the horizon

Made up of everyone.

Walk Two Worlds

I wish I could show you

The tiny little line

I hop across

The top of the chain link fence

When I kick my ball over it.

The wall in the backyard

By the dog shed

Of our old house.

Why did we keep it?

The empty door way always scared me.


I can’t teach you

What shoes to wear with those pants

Or how to fix that haircut

(I can’t fix mine),

But I’ll think to myself you’re doing it wrong;

That’s not what what the cool kids do.

You’re gonna get teased

I’m teasing you now

In my head

And hoping you’ll not notice

That my smile’s too big for my face.


It pains me to think

That we either lock ourselves in a box

Or can’t have walls at all

I think God likes boxes just fine

He wants us to make a home in them.

But boxes don’t sound cool.

I’m tired of showing you

That life in the cozy cardboard

Doesn’t mean you can’t have windows

I’m tired of thinking

About life outside and never getting to leave.


I’ll never explain right

What it’s like

To walk two worlds. 

To make them smile from afar

To look but not touch

To climb the fence

Find the ball in the neighbor’s yard

And bring it back

Before Mom sees me.

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