My memory foams at the mouth

foaming at the mouth

Sometimes I lay awake in this dream

Eyes wider than the desert that has become my poetic mind

I am trying to see the mirage of my father’s approval that exists beyond the horizon

Tangible as the approval of parents hugging a late-blooming genius seems

Tainted as the reality of success after a lifetime of near-misses

Never-to-chance, devil-may-care; these have all been my reality in one instance

Walking on a tightrope

Suspended ten thousand feet above a cloud made of the memory foam of my memories

As the crowds that crowd my mind cheer on my arrival at the other end of my adventure

And my memory foams at the mouth

Anxious for the prize yet crazed by the bliss of oblivion

And so I keep my eyes awake

So as to not wake the sleeping giant that is my very delicate dream…



It has been many moons since I’ve written here and yes, I will forever be working on that book…That documentary…That business plan…That recipe…Oh yeah! — That BOOK!  And, as always, I was a wee bit inebriated, and succumbed to the need to scribe.  Though short, my thoughts have grown quite tall…Image

Centered being
Clarity of mind
Sing silently in the centrifugal synchronicity of the dancer’s lovely solstice
Splitting synonyms into simultaneous soliloquies…

I love people and I can often be found quoting them in my facebook statuses…I’ve got quite a long list of quotes that I enjoy and that I feel both inspire and personify me. I have been looking over this list recently and have been writing poetry inspired by said quotes as a break from dictionary word “five minute poetry”…The quote I feel that personifies me above all others is this quote:

“I am two fools, I know. For loving, and for saying so in whining poetry” – John Donne

She walked away, dagger in hand, holding her head up high
Laughing hysterically
High and hallucinating
Holding my severed head above her heart to reduce the swelling of things left unsaid
Heavy is her heart though she cannot feel it through the heroin euphoria that has reached her emotions
Stinging are her words though she cannot taste them through the cocaine numb on her tongue
Emotionless and motioning for innocent bystanders to frolic in her potent scent and sensuality
Rancid meat disguised as the sweet smell and taste of salubrious nourishment
I knew her better when she was pretending to be my perfection
Pursing her lips and crossing her fingers behind her back
I am a fool that fell for all the glitz and glamour
Ignoring the glitches and glowering glares lurking just beyond the landscape
So I stood unabashedly before her and extended my hand
As she held the knife-edge to my throat…


It has been ages since I have written here and I can no longer blame the writing of my book.  Those endeavors are resting on a back burner because I chose to delve deeply into love and happiness.  Needless to say, that choice backfired on me and I again find myself here; drinking out of a giant wine bottle, recklessly holding a pen and hoping that somehow this will ameliorate me…

Like the albatross around the sailors’ neck
I am altruistic towards your anomalies
You are beautifully bravado
But bound by your brevity
She spits to serrate our salaciousness
And shadow the sorrow we’ve sown
I love her
And I loathe the loquacious lingo I lingered on to land us here
Spoken by the serpent that saw sanity
Only when she slept…



I have slated these slots of my heart for slovenly endeavors…Inebriated and exacerbated actions wearing Halloween costumes of Cupid and Aphrodite…And I’ve walked into this masquerade ball naked and unmasked upon a crucifix trying to not be noticed…But the slate blue of the blood in my veins is jealous of the heart it courses through…So I hemorrhage expletives filled with amorous cells that cover the diseased feet of those that wear my heart on their sleeves…And when they have all succumbed to the lesions their allegiance to wrong-doing have lasciviously left them with…I will, even then, lick their wounds and titivate the ballroom with their loathsome entrails…Because I have slated myself to be as hard as slate…And to always cherish a piece of those slated for my affections…


As a writer, having writers block seems as terminal as cancer…I’m not fucking bullshitting…I’ve got 500,000,000,000 thoughts in my head and I’m at a loss for how to express them and how to choose which thoughts to express…It feels like I’ve never written a thing in my cot-damn life…And so I force myself to push out something; anything…And the below is what I come up with…A piece of shit, but it’s something…I’m off to the country for a little while to hopefully get my head together because I think the city is only adding to the confusion…Wish me luck…

Turn off the stereo when you look into his eyes
Volume too loud to concentrate on two symphonies
The music in the ocean-blue of his sight is bursting my eardrums
Until I can hear only one tone
And as I raise my hand in protest of this irreconcilable difference
He purses his lips and mouths
“Doesn’t everyone deserve to be happy?”
My deaf tones yield more depth for the concerto of his existence
And he is as beautiful as I am dumb


I’ve sewn my sight shut lest I see what I have sown

These insalubrious, dubious deeds undoubtedly undo my demure mannerisms

Oh man — many molevolent men –make me morose and quite mad