The house of Ego ailing Poe

She would ask you
if she could do your knitting
without any needles.
As if you had a choice,
for the needles were her words.
She was a crafty fortune teller,
a walking nightmare of
patched-up proportions;
free if you believed
in that sort of thing
and yet, a native of Ompehda.
Her family never broke a thing.
her children went along with strings
and they all dined on glass daily.
Her husband made a living
writing stories for paraplegics.
They all thought they could see God
in the apologetic dramas and pseudo-mysticism,
especially watching suicides.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

>dexter and sinister


i am aware, and i am wary
of when you want something,
and you paint yourself as anything.
sometimes as thorns with a rose to deceive my sorrows.
or black and white with color to spite.
perhaps clouds fogging over a moon so bright,
or crows flocking over the sun in sight.
and i, i cannot decide where is the truth
and for what there is to fight.
so honey, move along but please, don’t be long
in letting the closing door divide us once more.
for between the two of us, there can finally be peace –
but only as strangers. 


Posted in poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | Leave a comment




i’ve often thought to conquer
the insistent muse i feel inside,
this feverish uprising that enchants me so.
perhaps write on my body
thick, throaty words of longing.
or cover myself with piercings, scars and tattoos
in which a crude artist’s knife,
with chants and trance of smoke or dance,
bleed out spirits
like those of the native tribesmen
and the earthy women –
to be a walking tapestry,
a cutting testament,
a colorful will to all the world.
so living still, it would not satisfy
my eternal hunger, for All
it longs for and
for All it will not sleep.
Sat. 1/1/11

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

>the power of silence

>As we cry out we carve more lines to follow and look between. Read the fine print. There are no words under all these feelings. Truth is mute.


Posted in poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

>braking up

>Goddess of mine, won’t you help me
in my unspoken depravity?
Won’t you love and laugh,
dance and sing,
unleash the beast inside of me?
Gods of my fortune-telling
that I should fly above the Din
and take out what lies,
underneath my skin.


Posted in poetry | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

all i do is complain about blood

blood is what birthed me

blood is what flows from me

blood shows me my pain

and it will




Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment


my guts were on fire. instead of moving on, i sat there like a stone. a dash in a sentence, not able to let go. my mouth was a good liar, but my eyes betrayed us all.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

when lightning comes

when lightning comes,

she’ll do me quick

without a why

or leaving me sick

but when thunder comes,

he’ll do me slow

and teach me all

there is to know

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Lydia Lunch “Fucked”

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

i don’t smile

if i as a woman don’t smile, a man won’t look

or if he looks, he’ll tell me to smile with his sourface

if i as a woman don’t sing my problems, he won’t listen

or if he listens, he’ll dismiss them as trivial like flies

but if i use musical instruments the way men do weapons,

he will feel the same fear of violence and death

that i as a woman have felt my whole life

and then he’ll look. then he’ll listen. he’ll have to die inside to do it.

imagine that. being beaten by a woman.

being on the same level. thrown off your high horse.

but what’s a little death do to hurt anyone?

“die daily”

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

an epiphany

there is too much inside of me for the outside to accomodate. my untamed words threaten complacency. i run hot and those who stick their hands into my fire too soon get burned. i am a volcano of emotions in a world of ice. many have tried and all have failed to steal my fire.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

the imposition of life and pain

the children, huddled together,

came up from the recesses

they had been lying on a champagne bath rug

while their parents drank champagne upstairs

they found out what it means to be hurt

this first experience shows them that love is pain

and they can’t go back to how it was before

no matter how hard they tried or screamed

or went to a different mother and dreamed

the damaged children can’t be undone

only death can deliver true peace from suffering

[look for a visual video version of this with poetry reading voiceover]

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment