I remember sitting on my bunk

polishing my belt buckle

whispers of war filled the barracks air,

not your normal whispers mind you.

They were quiet and edgy like a shadow

scrambling on the back streets of Chicago.

The hushed bullets of fear made me nauseas.

Holding my stomach I willed the sickness away,

readied my uniform for revelry and another day of war games.

I turned my covers just as lights-out

echoed through electric tin speakers.

The hushed whispers became softer yet

more urgent in my mind.

I lay listening to tanks and rapid fire weapons

playing their chorus meant just for rookies like me.

My eyelids felt a need to close

my mind thought about jungles,

bullets whistling through rice paddies

hitting random targets

screaming in the wetness of the jungle.

My eyes moistened when I wondered

why I left you so many thousands of years ago

I promised I would come back to love you

but I never did. The end of my youthful war arrived

as I curled up in a ball of emotional isolation.

It was over. Adulthood crushed me like a wrecking ball.



Like claws on a chalkboard

bones of our past scrape pavement sore

mistakes, misjudgment, misreading

those dark clouds of regret whistling

whippoorwill sadness.

Pools of regret stir the witches’ kettle

time never stopped for Macbeth

spots, those damn spots.



I wonder what I dreamt last night

did I sing a slurry song

full of love and dirty words,

sex on the rocks and losin’ my socks?

Did you paint my lips with yours

tequila love between our legs

burning fingers squeezing on a blunt

dreaming in a fog of purple haze?

I can’t remember my eyelids

dropping like curtains on a funeral bed

drop they did for now awake

I see what we both cared not to see.

The birthing of another day pitched

with crow eyed blackness

we forgot the ugliness of now,

our disentanglement of hope.




Not much to say after so many years

grooming for the sickle and bone.

Three years of throwing lead and shooting pool,

enough beer to tank the English navy,

I sit beneath this tree, tongue tied and breathing

like a fifties iron lung perched

next to a Red Cross sign

swinging like two bulbous breasts in a hot breath breeze.

Youth laugh like life is forever.

You and I know life is only a Monarch

chasing time through a lovely flower garden.

Home Sweet Home

Home Sweet Home

Sweet Alice Pickler stirring a pot of lamb

waiting for her turban hating baby

to get home from Charlottesville,

baby Bubba asleep in a steel cage

next to the bedroom door,

little did she know that God sent her a bomb.

Bubba exploded and Alice dropped her spoon forever.

Donny’s drone slipped quietly into the southern sky.

For the Wretched

Too much to say not enough time
like never burn your mind
in an empty crack house stairway
don’t step on a crack, 
make your mother proud
even if pride is lost to her to you
gooseflesh and grandma’s grave
never matched never hatched
so much for folklore crack whores
and the time it takes to breathe,
to die without someone by your side
don’t do it, just don’t do it.