A Toast


Here’s to the blackened doorsteps

the darkened hallways tainted with hate,

abandonment, and disdain for the ugly side.

It is the ugly side isn’t it, those with meth

pocks needle tracks let’s sing halleluiah

to Jesus who dared to duck out of town at the sight.


Let’s hear a halleluiah for the hanging trees,

rope burned necks of rape victims, the tainted whores

of Babylon.  Give praise to God for the brown skinned

woman hiding in a forgotten alley near Damascus.

She is alone like graves in an isolated cemetery covered

by the poor man’s projects of war torn Detroit.


Drink up all of you without sin without shadows

in your souls glass houses each and every one.

No judgment day, no Armageddon, no exit, no excuse

egotistical harshness to your fellow crusaders will end

on that special day when vacuum meets air

wealth is not excluded from the jaws of Mother Earth.




Forever is a Fish

Forever is a Fish


I stare sometimes into a starry night and I swear I can see forever.  I can see broken children of the Holocaust, the Black slaves being tossed off slave ships into a watery death.  Sometimes I see my brother, eyeless, and destroyed by the insidious effects of diabetes.  My father visits me in the pitched night and wants to know how life is going after his death fifty years ago.  The mind works in strange ways.

What keeps an old depressed man going?  My wife of over twenty years, Debbie, has been my rock and I would take a bullet for her.  I would crawl through broken shards of glass for her as she would for me.  We are tied to the same rope, the same love we’ve had since our chance encounter.  For me, life is serendipitous.  I see no God reaching his finger down and stopping the slaughter of children, the rape of women, and the unspeakable collective Catholic molestations.  If ever there was a God he’s skipped town and is now living on an island paradise as a sea turtle.  Sea turtles are smart and non-aggressive.  The earth is my home and always will be until my body is purified by the crematorium fire.  My ashes will be blown in the wind whipping through Cape Hatteras for I am a fish and I must return from whence I came.

Goodbye Daddy

Black night snow licking

at my toes,

daddy’s dead.

The trees bend in reverence

for his passing soul.

His corpse still haunts me

quiet and still like a Quaker’s prayer.

I watched six men labor at his coffin

tugging him to an empty mouth

of dirt and snow

I still cry today for my naiveté.

I did not know the man

my creator and chief.

I bow now in reverence of his dream

mine to keep like a flower

in an ancient bible.



Heat waves ripple

in a street

the young dog is lost


The reeds are brittle

in the wind

and the swan is pale.


So easily threaded

when younger

the eye is barren now.


The whale sings

to emptiness

my ears are hidden.


Rap rap rap


the shower curtain slides.


Dripping with dew

the green blade

greets the morning sun.


Old man in a ditch

paper sack

cars keep racing by.


In the storm so strong

a twig bends

with deep respect.


Brown guitar so dusty

sitting in a corner

I knew G and G7

I never knew you

four strings left

three work

where do you go from here?


Black fog rolling black


senses tasting black.


A stranger knocks and enters

from Japan

new flowers grow.


The neon sky awakes

a sleeping night

I am alone.


Her towel and mine

side by side

married for a moment.


A mountain stream

and the leaves

are friends forever.


The mountain is high

my rope is short

the fall is brief.


Your intentions

upon entering

oft times leave with you.



ominous flowers



The murkiest of water

can offer

the clearest of reflections.


Rat in his cage opaque

eyes staring at freedom

beyond his barbed wire life.

The rat an ominous friend,]

a Chinese circle sign

a year of him is enough for me.

I crawl on all fours

gawking through my own cage,

my life obsured

indistinguishable from his.


The old man slept

through the rattling,


of abandonment

gnawing at him

rat in a cage.

After the wine

was pissed into the winter wind,

he sleeps.

The barn rattles its distaste

for his trespassing,

for such rudeness by the man.

He sleeps with words

and a child’s face,

bouncing rubber balls,

catcher’s mitts,


God awful words

like batwing whispering

in his liquored fuddle,

but they are as putrid

as the heave lying next to him.

The word goodbye

is forgotten in stench,

stench of another drunken night.