Relish raw power
at rest in your soul

Be like the river
that roars over rocks

Unstoppable force
joins forces with tides

Romps with pure evil
to power it down

No one will compliment me on them
but I think I have nice collarbones.
They stick out like a bird perch
on an otherwise flabby body,
the leylines hidden from the map
of my skin.  Even if
I were to render the fat away,
I would still be considered stocky,
a category away from thin
or attractive, but my collarbones,
at least they are perfect as they are.

Before dawn
I walk to Lettuce Lake
to the observation deck
above the Hillsboro River
and hang my hammock
between two perfectly placed
top posts.
In the cool stillness
before mid-morning’s scorch
I rest in a composition of closed eyes
and ears open
to the great seabirds of Tampa Bay.
Their clacks and chitterings and gutturals
fill the belly of my mind
and cause it finally to sleep
a sleep of the rarest kind
a sleep of weightlessness and light,
one that allows the hidden to be heard
one that allows my body to catch
the manifold nimbleness of being

I awake to a consciousness so thin
I think that it’s at its very end
and this circling cry of osprey
is the sound of my oblivion
the sound of my vacant vast surrender

Waves roaring thousands of decibels. Rays of
sunshine piercing through general store 
sunscreen. Watching her eyes trace the shore
slowly. Sandcastles in the distance. Beginning
to chat about nonsense: the news, the tourist
attractions, the local weather. A new decibel
reaching my ears, unknown to me. She turns
to me, face redder than a stop sign. Blushing
from talking casually? I nod back at her. The
newest wave hits my face: “YOU actually
FORGOT to close the GARAGE?!”

“Thy soul shall find itself alone…” – Edgar Allan Poe “Spirits of the Dead”

On cloudy days,
it feels like maybe haints
are set loose to roam around.

Finding their way into the crannies and hollers
all along these hills, looking for whatever
it is they need or lost or long for,

the missing pieces to restore peace
and allow them to lay down one final time,
let go and be free from ties to structures

built in this realm of woe.
Their spirits passing right through
us unnoticed in our hurry off to work,

our worry over money and time,
but sticking on in our lethargic yawns and
pondering of, “Why am I so tired?”

What if the last thing we saw was the sunshine filtering between the curtains of a bay window

The little flurries of dust that sparkle in the warm rays onto the wood floor

Like the darkness behind our eyes in our first kiss

Heart quickened before softening to a painful thud

Of knowing this is the first, while also the last

The beginning of everything

The end of our momentary joy

A forever fleeting desire

To hold each solitary happiness 

To know all the desirable joys

Of sunshine kissing skin

Of raindrops sliding off eyelashes

The sweetness of cake, gritty against teeth

The warmth of a lover’s embrace

Those moments

Like photographic flashes behind dazzling sparks in our eyes

The flicker of our flames

That kindling only warm for so long

That spark of life

How it seems forever and ever changing

A beautiful blip in the universe

Do love poems write themselves?
Where do the words come from?

From the heart of those who found love 
From the heart of those looking for love 
From those who have love to give 

From me 
I looked for love 
I found love 
I have love to give 

Here is my love 

under the carport
the grackles cack and complain
that they’re not corvids,
can gift me nothing 
but white shit spangles on the cement.

they trill in iambs, Dad-dy Dad-dy,
who had warned me 
to cover the chink before spring
when they’d nest again
dropping malformed chicks and more crap. 

they rattle at my cat 
that springs to my lap,
kneads once,
and dashes away,
discontent.

I blacked out,
Maybe just for a couple of seconds,
But while I got lost
I dreamt of alternate realities,
I was happy,
It was perfect,
But it was off
Because it wasn’t real.

can’t unplug myself
                so it goes like this
                                i’m the villain
the boogiegirl gone bad broken
vengeful pseudostalker screaming
in a vice grip of despair. i just want him
                                                    to love me
& i know he doesn’t
so i am going to war with myself
    over it.                                   i was naive
                to think we could be friends after.
   our love
   two lambs                             leading each other
   by the neck to slaughter in the name of forging
   something unconditional passing through your
   mother’s hands since she birthed you & that’s all
   that encompasses               the worldwomb holding
   your epidermis & therefore mine since i loved you
   & it wasn’t enough to hold both you & her inside of 
   me        two adults going to battle over their own 
                 identities                   projection must run 
                                                                in your blood 
                                                                to the sync of
                rachmaninoff piano concerto no. 2, your bodies     
                               not yet climbing out of the abyss
                               but humming to the music above them 
                                                                i must be the music