The Beachheads at Galilee

 The Beachheads at Galilee

I am strong.

Is that too snobbish for you?

I admit most women and men’s strength

far exceeds my trench of thought

but I know about wrong and right more than many,

less than some.

Being born in a manger doesn’t get it for me,

a step towards tribalism,

a graduated step towards modernism

not modern thought.

Worshiping in mansions and super domes

Is like Pink Floyd,



Your Jesus, your God, and Holy Ghost

left for Tahiti years ago,

first class seating on the U.S.S. Striker

I can only guess their whereabouts today.

Dead I suppose.

Sent to sea on a raft with burning coconuts.

The Homecoming

The Homecoming

Black dress dark rose and tears

death is dark, black like tar.

It is night without a moon

clouds on edge of exploding,

is there a lesson in staring

at the waxed corpse arms crossed?

Children have nightmares

grandpa’s corpse doesn’t move to soothe

his grandchild’s request to play,

dark suited men smile blankly

as a man in cloth repeats last week’s prayer.

Bless this man with his very own closet.

Bless his embalming and fine haircut

all dressed up to rot like his new neighbors.

Homecoming presents of carnations and queen’s lace

death imitates life without exchange of words

without the ohs and ahs once found in breathing.

The Journey

The Journey

Dandelions in a grass patch

waiting for summer breezes

to take them gently

without wings or a flutter.

Take them where you ask,

to the place they should be

like us they belong somewhere

never knowing never growing.

Until nature speaks

with a hot swooping tongue

carrying them to a toothless field

where no one knows their name.

Child Abuse

Child Abuse

Dried cake blended

with yesterday’s blood

Just a child’s eyes brown

like buttons

staring up at me.

Tell me your story

the big hairy arm

shredding your dreams

beating your hopes

into a dark dusty hall.

Tell me of dirty needles

on kitchen tables

cocaine mama.

Rubber band daddy

make your children

in your image

bending twigs

bending trees

acorns rotted

trees won’t grow.

In Brooklyn



or city of angels.

All muted voices

mouths of babes

closed in caskets

jailhouse daddy

rubber room mommy

pallbearers cry.

Time will forget


tricycles broken

baby dolls

scattered in needles

yesterday’s news

today’s new baby

button eyes

cake on mouth

broken jawed child.

Spell My Life

Spell My Life

Spell it out for me the quiet

in tombstone winds

sweat beads dribbling down

the squint of life

I am not who you think I am,

not the good humor man,

the loving guy with an erection

perpetually bent toward you.

Remember those long cold nights

white sheets creeping off our movements

nocturnal bluster beneath bare bones

breathing now beneath oak trees

your grave makes life gone in a wisp

spell it out for me the quiet

belief in something beyond the trees

beyond the final breath

spell it out in fiction tales of god

golden streets, golden rod and white lace

cover me now for I am the tombstone wind.

Graduation Summer

My mind the big screen

Of my past

I watched me

watching you

slumbering in my arms

red hair satin soft

I watched us laugh

driving fast on gravel roads

kissing and so much more

can I find that path

back to those dark summer nights?

Will I laugh again

winking with a certain smile

touching so precious

we could barely breathe

Wrinkles caught

forever in our mirrors

golden years

more brass

than gold.


Bumble Bee bullets sting through gray smoky air.

God’s dirt captures the noses of children.

Are we done yet, have we more to kill?

Nabil and Yara are laboring in a concrete corner,

still alive yet eyes blank

like a thin king’s heart, blank and callous.

Leaders of the world unite to kill more.

A fair haired president climbs aboard an F35,

bigger than his penis, smaller than his ego.

Bombs away America.

Death blood leaks from the slave’s house,

white irony in action.