Hinge Up

a freight train night
barrels down


i wake up a burst
hit by force a thousand tons


hurt all over, pain bleeds blue
my nightgown stained hollow

a stain

cannot wash out

try to wash out
but cannot

cold, sorrow frozen thick
sharp stab in back

still, i am so still
waiting for pressure

where is pressure?

cozy first
warm first
a sudden burst
no pain worst

i stand alone dark
quiet, not quiet

a needle so thin
a thread too tight

i cannot wake up night
must not wake

fire, sting eye
feet no feel
feel feet


back to bed
bed to back

hurry, must sleep now

forget pain stain hollow
fill empty with sleep


hinge up tonight
unhinge in morning


The Plick

underneath the woodland soil

lies a buried burrow long forgotten

stones and sticks have covered well

leaves and logs guard the lair

where deep in slumber lies the plick

all who trespass with light do so freely

none shall find the hollow hallow

in memory the plick was wide awake

it roamed the earth in search of sin

and when the light cast out the dark

the plick retreated in a coil

back into the earth with all work done

the plick still chews that final sin

the one that last remained off path

and with it went the plick to den

when in the woods bring all your might

and bring with you a source of light

at any moment the plick can lunge

at any body with sin inside

fodder for the plick you shall become

wandering into the woods with darkness


All Things Good

I sit inside of quitting time

I can see the paradoxical rift,

The give, the take, the sleeping awake.

So long sweet swinging vine

Your tail would wag if I could see it,

The backward sway, the pulling away, the not today.

My mind becomes needles

Someone else’s work is better,

The itch, the constant twitch, the forward pitch.

Sounds like clouds surround me

I can never understand the dream,

The chase, the place, the steady pace.

Grinding up my feelings now

Loathing lost continents and distant stars,

The curious, the furious, the down right delirious.

Sight is feeling outside the real

This is how I become free,

The stand, the hand, the promised land.

Guile’s Beguiled Guillotine

Savvy are the wicked,
watching and waiting
for circumstance-

that moment where the atmosphere grows thick
and awareness between breaths intensifies.

In such a fog, only the essence of importance remains,
every hair stands on end-

a deadly blow is what’s to follow.

Enchanted becomes the light that does not pass go.

Stuck in a cloud like a light bulb,
intensity becomes the glory of daemons.

Angels sing the light to life,
guile keeps it tethered
in place for its purpose unveiling.

Keep your lights close and hold them dear,
box them up to keep them safe.

When the sky falls and angels cry,
daemons come to comfort the fallen.

Blades grow thick in fields of fearless anticipation.

If growth could speak, it would divulge
the wisdom of the universe.

In the dark, rocks grow where nobody’s looking.

Even the most lonely of crystals
becomes most cherished.

Lost heads look no more,
light slides on all sides.

All My Coulds

Staring through this murky haze,

Could I receive my work in pieces-

Not by choice but could you, please,

Allow me this, another moment,

Could it wait just one more turn-

With the will to go on caring

Let me still my breath ’til morning,

Could you see me clearly wanting-

Another reason for believing

We send our messages to the skies,

Could you leave me to my thoughts,

Please, just go,

For I

Could not.