This Morning

This morning I woke up
to the constant chomping
of the dog chewing
her dinosaur,
steadfastly digging through
the cotton skin
to get to the plastic

For a second
my mind strayed,
attempting to
find a metaphor
connecting fierce,
extinct Triassic
giants to this gentle
domestic creature;

but all there was
was a dog chewing
her squeaky toy
in the morning
before breakfast.

Clacks and Flashes and Chings

All the clacks and flashes and chings,
culture becomes a twittering machine,
lost in distracting cravings from electronic crack,
it’s shattered attention flung everywhere - 
stroboscopic Soma.

Myths are changed
while consensus reality
is distorted;
three dimensions are reduced
to momentary haze;

anger misplaced,
counterfeit pleasure,
sentimentality trumps reason,
truth is played like three card monte,
and consequences are yet
to be tallied.

This is another engraving
on the Bastards’ win list.


Like everything else,
human connections shift;
from neglect, 
from ineptness,
from the stranglehold 
of family ghosts.

expectations demand retrofitting,
the broken remnants of disappointment
are discarded 
onto the scrapheap
of loss.


There are times of energy
without etiquette, when
the arenas of chatter 
overwhelm - 

like enduring the squawk
of a thousand hungry gulls -

devices and beings
devouring fragile attention,
that runs aground
and is lost.

Wish Your Were Here

Mischevious temptation:
to speak,
attempt to share,
to fill a void,
rather than remain
within it’s vastness.

Beyond speaking a single word
the whole world there for the taking
all without anything to say.

It’s not a great matter
of life and death.

Open space,
without end
the meaning rests in the moment.

Words are mere symbols;
not the sky and clouds
and green grass
and blue reaching beyond imagination.

They are the luxury
of sensation.

Time is best served by
just shutting up.

This place can be known,
but you have to be here.

Mr. Bombay

Boxed within his own chaotic discipline
Mr. Bombay comes to save the day.

A blowman in mirrored  shades,
he ventures towards a different destiny,
armed with the conviction of  his uniqueness
he embraces his faith in outsider status.

With knowledge of the rituals
of common connection,
he gets along when it suits him,
And suits him when he gets what he wants;

steadfast commitment to overthrow order,
through stunts and shenanigans
on bedazzled Saturday nights,

ultimately remaining
a lonely phantom
when the Sunday sun rises
and the less desperate return home.


Through the looking glass,
the display of illusion merchandise,
come on,
with the promise 
of pleasures,
often uncommon,
and all too often

Yet, it is there
to walk by and notice, 
to become a star,
desired and omnipotent 
in imagination.

Conceived as yours,
to be shared with no one,

Possessed and
to be kept 
in your pocket.