I’ve resigned myself to dying alone.  I realize that you, My Future Wife may just be just some idea I’ve imagined in my head… a flickering shadow I’ve pursued through this vast and winding maze until I’ve been’ inexorably lost.  With neither breadcrumbs nor chalk-marks to find my way back, there is no direction but one foot ahead the last.  

What, ho?  There is such a long way to – go.    

And this long walk is penance for a lifetime of broken hearts and battered doors’ from rapacious knuckles and hasty steps across scuffed floors.  My hard heels clicking on the cobblestones with my collar pulled high, past all the healthy hearth-lit homes with candlelight’ dancing in windows– places where I could’ve been.  

It’s not the chill that kills me, it’s not knowing whether the weather is ever going to change.  Wondering, if I’ll ever get out of this rain.  

What, ho?  There is such a long way to – go.

Bump it with:

The Fire Starting-Pencil-Fighting-Super-Saiyan

pencil fight
(Best stock photo, ever)

Every relationship lately feels like a game of emotional-pencil-fight.  I take what I fundamentally am’ and hold it between my hands.  *whack* you take a nice hearty swing.  Then you do the same, grasping your smooth polished veneer, pulled taught’ over your tender timber and graphite bones. I lean in close and I take a big overhead chop.  *whack*  I just can’t settle without testing your mettle.

Because I’m terrified that I’ll lash my hobbled-heart to you, and somewhere down the line you’ll need to shoulder some of my burden I’ll discover you crumble under the weight of my uneasy gait.  So instead I instigate– I set a fire to see how quickly you immolate.  Wait!  stop drop and roll, and soldier-crawl to the nearest exits.  Do you touch the handles for heat, or do you kick down doors and hopefully… escape?  How long can you hold your breath?  How well do you perform under duress?  These are things I need to know.

I am the Fire-Starting-Pencil-fighting-Super-Saiyan.  Each encounter leaving me a little more battered, but a little more true.  A little less prim-and-polish-“yellow #2” and a bit more wood and grit.   But if you get to the core of things, I promise you’ll see what makes me write.  And I’ll scribble both our names and circle them a thousand times.  I am the Fire-Starting-Pencil-fighting-Super-Saiyan.  But clearly there’s nothing super about me.

Except maybe my hair.

Bump it with:

The Siren Sings Back

You speak my words
back to me so sweetly.
Folded, and twisted upon
themselves, completely.
Be you song bird?
Be you lark?
Hatched from an ivory egg
with my name-song in your heart?

We are not the product of our circumstance.
Nor are we the summit of our birth.
No, we are at best–
— actions and words.

Should you strike untrue by an inch
you strike Untrue by a mile.
So take heed, and take aim.
May your arrows never stray.

Because we lay naked and adjacent
not just as vessels,
but as souls.
And the lines where I end and you begin
have blurred.  

And if you bend the light round’
the halo on your head,
to blind my eyes instead,
you’ll find a lonely century
without me.

Kira and the Poet

Oh, you.
You were my first real fan.
Oh, there were girls in short dresses
who batted their eyelashes
when I told them I was an artist
of sorts.

But you…
you were the first one to’
know me from nothingness
solely on the merits
of my open words.

You reached across the darkness
with the depths of your curiosity
and were all the more enamored.
And like the moth to the flame
I singed your pretty little wings
and pinned you up with the rest of


Because Darling, 
This is how beasts like us end.
Not in triumph, but in dust.

I saw the money in your parents,
and the cuts’ along your arms
and I was familiar with the nectar
of your poison.
Were I a boy ten’
years younger,
you’d be more than enough
to bring me down to me knees.
And I’d rip out my heart willingly,
for you to wear round‘ your pretty
neck as I lay clutching
the open cavity of my chest.  

But today,
you’re a pleasant memory
to warm me
like the lingering whiskey
in my glass.
And the ice is melting faster
than expected.

Bump it with:

The Escape Hatch and the Fire Axe

Today, I am the Escape Hatch.
Temporary-distraction of
digital parchment correspondence.
With the flashing feathered quills,
promising flesh and thrills
through the wireless ansibles
over the hills
and through her heart.

I am the Escape Hatch.
where She lay bare and recanted
stories of her ill-fitted tilt-stitch-world
where the crooked seams
somehow aligned between

the twisted sidewalk
and her heather-blue dreams.

With each tenuous step
under the cloudy dander white lines
floating through the irreverent skies
as our gazes are fixed on the ever-growing


in the ceiling.  

I am the Escape Hatch.
Cold-steel-shield and He is the Fire Axe
surrounded by uniforms and flashing
lights after he razed her possessions
and left red marks around her neck
in his obsession
to make her
love-  him – back.

He may not know my name,
but he knows what I am–
The obsidian obelisk
a midst the crops of his happiness,
and he can neither turn me
nor’ till me

so he burns her fields instead.    

I am the escape hatch.
The final twist it took to seal her
entirety for eternity on the other side.

Until the rain ran past
the red rust in the hinges
reduced to ruin,

and the handle immovable,
and the decision, irrevocable.

Goodbye.  Adieu to you.  


Bump it with:

The Last One Found

I go into this new year, with hope.  

I  believe that life is getting better, that my best adventures are still ahead of me, and this journey is just beginning.   I believe the love I’ve shared were all just precursors to something greater.  And I will count my scars and be grateful someone cared enough to go that deep.  I hope that I will find you soon.  Because I’ve been living my whole life to be in love.   I know, that’s a stupid thing to say but before I could remember wanting to be a lawyer, or a writer, or anything in between… I remember wanting to have someone.  I’ve been on an endless game of hide-and-seek’ and all the other kids have all been found and are already eating their cake.  I’m the only one left wandering the halls and looking under stairs…  but if I’m still here then it means you’re still looking.  With those bright eyes– come find me.  


Bump it with:

The Bridge of Closed Doors

I’ve closed doors that can never be reopened, and on the other side are the unborn ghosts of a lifetime together; big house, big dogs, children, and laughter.   But I know, She goes on to find someone better, to grow old with someone who can cherish her in a way I could never.  And in a way, I did that, with a graceful bow and a sidestep through the curtain, and I’m certain I’ll never be at this point again.  And it’s just as well.  Sad smile, exit left.  Chin up.  No regrets.  

I pull down each closed door and stack them one upon the other on the floor.  Each one raises me higher and takes me a bit further– planks for me to walk, out over uncharted seas in an an ever growing arc of my history, of who I was leading to who I could be.  But eventually it’s no longer one more step’  over the restless black abyss, until we plummet to our death… no it was that last moment until our long lonely walks– intersect.  And our feet are steady, and the wood holds fast.  A bridge.  Abridged. We meet– at last.

Bump it with:

The Old Man and the Machine

This is her third time walking down the frozen foods aisle.  Could it be she’s not looking at peas, she’s looking at me?  She glances across the five feet between us and smiles, brushing the hair from her face.  And it’s no coincidence that her eyes are locked with my eyes and she’s not looking away.  And brain no make mouth talk good.  Durrr.

And then she’s gone.

So from now on I’m going to live as if’ my body was on temporary loan.  In actuality I am one hundred years old.  Broken in a darkened room, as the storm rages outside.  Decrepit and decayed, clinging to life through respirators and tubes coursing into my veins.  And through magic or science I’ve sent back in time to inhabit my younger body for the last few hours I have left.  I’m not going to rob any banks or stick my dick in any electrical sockets, because hey that’ll catch up to god ole’ old me eventually.  But I’m going to live life this body is stolen by an older wiser me with no time for regrets.  And I’m going to be brave, and fearless.

And I’m going to eat ice cream.

So the next time a pretty girl is looking at me.  Brain will make mouth talk good.

And I’ll say, “Hello”

Bump it with:

Matchstick Girls

I’ve traipsed my way
through someone’s love again.
Completely thoughtless
to the consequences
and it’s only fitting that the axe
falls heavy on my head.

Because I’m to blame
for burning through good girls
like matches I can’t’ light

All He wanted
was the ring in his pocket
to glitter round her finger
and Her, his home and hearth
for the rest of their days.

And I the dower downpour,
snuffed her like
so many brief indulgences.
Now she’s his soggy tinder,
and I can’t even remember
what it was like to feel her
aglow in my cheeks
and the chill is setting in.

So I’ll stomp my feet and
cup my empty hands
in the shivering cold
on the outside looking in.
And I know.  

I’ll be the kindling in someone else’s pyre soon enough.

Bump it with:

The Porcupine and the Pine Cone

I loved you the way
the Porcupine loves the Pine Cone.
kindred hearts
sharing shape and form,
pressed together for warmth
through the night’s chill.

But between my spines and your spurs’
one of us was bound to get hurt.

So I kept my distance,
closer though you inched
in the growing days.
We wore a groove
in the ground as our tiny legs
made plans upon the looming hills.

But in my heart,
I knew we could never reach them…
and I know we never will.

I miss you,
the way the Porcupine misses the Pine Cone.
I’d carry you with me if I could.
But being born of barbs and bristles,
it’s hard to shoulder anyone’s baggage but my own.

Soon you’ll be taking roots
and kissing thistles to the wind.
So you take the high road,
and I’ll take the one less traveled,
and we’ll see if it makes any difference
where we come out at the end.

Bump it with:

Robert Frosting all over the top of this cupcake.