February 8, 2017


A late,  the too latest,  drive

Car thick  with ambient music

On  back  home

On back roads   I can come upon,

In deep,  way back,

The darkest pond,  I can  plumb

The darkest pond

I can Cool off

I can char

Edgy angular contours

In deep


If I should shift off my myth-making,  not forsaking my pathos,

I could concede defeat on  conceits  I’ve concealed,


Turn tail on my inner errant paths,

&  Find my feet,   for far, afield.


May 25, 2016


“There’s a moment for everyone when you fall into your own shadow and the fact is that it’s your shadow and you’re forced to live in it. And this is nothing to celebrate or not celebrate. It simply is.” – Robert Rauschenberg


There is indignity  this city

Shouldn’t see  from me.

We wouldn’t want it continuing.

I’m advised to restrict public showing.

When sunrise is up

And  1st  to say

It’s not good,

It  should not

See the light of day.

Tonight though   I say

When storm winds

Blow  shadows,

Leaf  shadows wild,

What might be imagined

Stands on stage,

And enacts out


There lain out







“I don’t know what it is
But you got to do it
I don’t know where to go
But you got to be there
I don’t know where to fall
But I know that it’s comfortable where
I don’t know where it is

Putting all of my time
In learning to care
And a bucket of rhymes
I threw up somewhere
Want a locket of who
Made me lose my perfunctory view
Of all that is around
And of all that I do

So I knock on the door
Take a step that is new
Never been here before
Is there anyone else here too
In love with beauty
Playing all of the games
Who thinks three’s company,
Is there anyone else who wears slightly mysterious bruises…?”

-Rufus Wainwright, From “I Don’t Know What It Is”




There, All seems all quiet in her animal queendom.

Her solace has a high place

In one rare plan,  I confess.

In fact,  I’d really want her

To relax  the shields  she needs  to yield to.

I’d unclothe her armor

I’d enclose her ardor  inside

The insides

of my own too tender arms




(from 2010)


Advent, even I wait on as

Silent Partner in this stronghold.

Before I go on,

I’ll go on & make sure

The blinds are drawn.



When I’m

Aware/Awake  It’s gone cold,

For me to know it,

I’ll go on & need you some

I’ll go on & remind me some

I’ll go and turn my life down some

I’ll sit myself down until

I’ll see myself still enough

To behold

We’re meant, both,

Silent partners in this stronghold.



.                 (from 2010)



April 21, 2016

For the most part I’m all right with what resides inside my heart

Though now & then I can hear again that yr leery  nearly often

You can’t soften unrest  with yr  kinda kindness


Most of the past  I must confess

Trying love  It’s true I’ve been clueless

But i guess now  I know  I guess

That one oughtn’t wait  to not hate

All what’s more hard to tolerate


It can happen   to evaporate


April 10, 2016

“I swing the brush and was conducting the Chaos”

Got on my knees, needed & got  grout out

I showered shame off my inner shins

Got out some to name nine or so sins I never believed in

I showed  god everything  I never believed

Fleshing out these precious hours especialiously  their spectres

“But how many are fleeing anything to that?”







” ich schwinge den Pinsel und dirigiere das Chaos..”  from




“Mais combien fuient rien qu’à cette idée ?”  from

Peur, souffrance intérieure





20160407_113540(image:”Expectorate”  http://namelessneed.deviantart.com/art/expectorate-601720396 )






It’s a fact  I guess

That here backstage

I fear  before the final act  undresses

The unspoken, the between the lines, the off the page,

Is revealed  I’ll mull over my moves

How shall I shade my lines, my lies?

I’ll retain  written refrains,

But refrain giving more? or remove? or improve?

Always  soliloquies

All the way back   to old balconies

“My  Word  To  The  Unwise..

But  first!

It’s getting so I gotta get  a call on

If I’m drowning

Or if I’m dying  of thirst.”




Trouser Cuffs, turquoise moor muddy.

Shuddering shadow. He is soon just

A moonlit man. Trapped door

Was his  “I’m not here” fuss.

Dry sob. & In a stall.

I marshal  his resources for

All  outdoors  All







Sure,  I’m  shopworn,

Tattered (as if it mattered)

And torn.

Surely, torn;

I don’t decide if I’m just too tired  or

I won’t give any/ to the torture

I won’t give up/

On/To  torture.

It’s nearly the nerve pills,

And endless,useless stolen coffee sleeplessnesses

Or I’ve faced my fill.





.                                          (from 5 yrs back, & here after 3am)