I’d rather be elsewhere, out of this abyssal dream; for no longer could the woulds of yesterday propel me onward down this path.

To remain asleep would be akin to self-preservation but also equal its death.

I’d rather speak not, as my eyes open; for in this moment I can see more than words could become expressions.

To say that which cannot be described in speech would convolute its very meaning.

I’d rather wonder, rather than know; for knowing would mean no longer imagining.

To cease creative thought would mean to burst the bubble of divine inspiration.

I’d rather be awake rather than not be, would rather see rather than speak and would rather think rather than cease to inspire.


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

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.

Contagious Frisk

You want to stretch out your hand and grasp the softness of meaning, taking away the best part of me.

As soon as there’s the slightest ache of rough reality, your hand recoils, unwillingly to want and hesitant to receive.

Dust builds slowly upon neglected shelves where hands no longer meddle the mettle.

Did you put your dream in a dank box with a lock or a rusty cage without a door?

My Wonderment Verse

When in the past you look for treasures, you will not find more than honeyed pleasures.

If in the future you seek great gifts, you will only end up with empty rifts.

As you are now, this sacred space, consider luck as time and place.

No greater man has ever lived who didn’t sleep or never dreamed; close your eyes and don’t be afraid, all you are is all you’ve made.

And if you believe in what could be, not what should but wonder if would, then sleep for you and dream for me.