Back Lit

  I feel everything; the drugs never took away the pain. The love never made me sanguine, I just lied and said I was OK. I cut myself free of the visible, out of the picture; I was pitiful. Stick around and make you miserable. It’s not a question of impossible; I’ve always been impossible. … Continue reading Back Lit

Match Man

One stick, then another taken away from the Match Man. Piling up his pyre, one and only fire is his destination. There's no hope, no desire. They won't burn him as he stands; take him down to build the flames higher. The tangled effigy of the Match Man.   Could have lit the flame, could … Continue reading Match Man

Surviving a Plane Crash

So, this is the impossible thing that I have asked of you. Never said anything we ever did was going to be very easy. You've been clinging to your life, like you think that you need it, but you look the other way every time you have to live, as if every day were the … Continue reading Surviving a Plane Crash


I got down - dog tired, dried out - and drunk again. Was laid out a long time, lost myself and my friends.   I guess that's the price you pay to feel a little better than you probably deserve most times. Got to find a better way than these masters I usually serve; don't … Continue reading Medicine

Lovers of Desolation

Lovers of desolation, in our hearts we yearn for obliteration. In our most lucid, hidden fantasies, we dance and fuck in cities razed by fire. In fields that once filled the mouths of nations, we couple in the dust, on dry, cracked earth. Quietly we await the apocalypse that will ravage all life, unmake the … Continue reading Lovers of Desolation


Honed like a straight razor on a stone, I'm forged in the fire of life alone. Reborn. From the chemical comfort of this womb I'm torn.   Thrust into life - cold as black ice, just as big a hazard as I can devise. All the shit I've had to deal with, don't matter how … Continue reading Reborn


I have worn out the words that describe rebirth. There are no new ways to recreate what is. The sculpture pulverized to dust, and water added, folded back into clay, then molded into some transcendent form, is still dust. Each palace built on opulence and verdant builder’s ego, with gilt and polished stones and cedar … Continue reading Rebirth?