Do You Like Me


Do you like me?Check one.Yes or No -Kyle Mrs. Chelby was talking in a way that carried weight and importance. The water cycle was a heavy subject full of subtle intricacies, and measurable realities. Kyle had been interested at first listening to the dance of liquid to vapor and back to liquid when his attention had been all but vaporized by a brightness out of the corner of his eye. The sun had sent a …

Giants Rise and The Earth Heaves


The world was formed. Sculpted first by that which is and in the wildest of ways and then tamed by humans. We lived man and woman we lived. We built city after city. Only the deepest reaches of our world were not known to us. The space above was the most treacherous of frontiers. We longed to go to places never tread. We longed to connect with those around. As we wove new ways to …

Always Boxed In


Rooms always boxed inPlaced strategically in locationReliably there always expectedWithout question even I knowWhat I will do Adventure used to creep inMy bones would resonate with adventureMy muscles mimic the wavesOf distant shoresI wanted to see I did what was requiredI met makers with honorsI married, had kids found treasureBut never moved till even todayAll I tune with anticipation I desire to delve into mysteryTo approach danger and hug itThe wanderer is trappedEven though the …

Click and Whir


The old fan clicks and whirs. I need to repair it. I click and whir when I think, about everything that needs replacing. The broken things and the whirring fan fall away sometimes, and I get to see the threads back to you.

A Distant Train


A distant train vibrates the air.Even in my home.What power to touch an ear –drum so gentle from here. A tweet from Australia.Is read by me shirtless in Texas.What power to touch my eye.So gentle from here. These things like projectiles.Shot through air and wire.Surrounded by the fullness of space.Flowing around them all of it fluid. Except me, see this machine.We know and can explain.Yet besides it we ask the engineers.Are galaxies made and destroyed.

Beauty In The Slow Naked in the Silent


1000 years ago a man and his staff walk silently through the wilderness.500 years ago a lad and his bow transverse the plains.200 years ago a cowboy and his pistol gaze upon the mountains.50 years ago a soldier and his rifle walked though the jungles.Now I stand in a dark empty park with these words. What is this heavy yet invisible fog that finds me alone?A wilderness in between such modern construction.It is always the …

Next To The Purple Wood


To the liquor store we went.The lightest of blues and yellows the sky casting its purple hue.The atmosphere mingling all fall colors.With that purple ethereal nostalgia, a road traveled often.I lost my purpose for the trip.Like a soldier forgetting the mission.Dad listened to music about pimps.I did to, it hung in my brain.Next to the image of the purple wood.

Life Does Not Ask


We all exist at some expenseA mothers pain or a fathers heftWithout a question being asked of ourselvesOf weather existence is what we desiredNoLife does not ask and neither does GodYou are woven and crafted a divine poem in sinewBlood pumps through the veins of an earthen shellWhile a light no fleshy eyes see burns brighterThan a campfire laced with magnesiumIt is hard knowingIts hard rowinga life livedpurposeknown

Thank You


Thank you for this failure.It was a ride.I will let my shame fade away with the rising tide. Thank you for this wound.It was a trauma.I will let this scar be a boon a poem on my flesh a happy mantra. Thank you for this insult.It was quite sharp.I will let these words be pulled tight like strings to my harp. Thank you for these shortcomings.They are magnificent.I will let them glow bright with the …

Schrodinger’s Spiritual Mind


Schrodinger’s spiritual mind both alive and dead.A swelling desire to dwell on the eternal.The carnal inspiration of the darker thoughts.loneliness and anger war against the lovely and pure.Staring into a sunrise over mountains while counting my sins and offenses. A swelling din of joy growing at the sight, the sound of the beloved.Into the fog of melancholy nihilism, fatalistic grind, the rut.Rise above I tell myself, breath in the fog its good for the lungs.See …