a flavor so romantic

sun kissed, sweaty chin

butter on a summer day

when she’s around

barefoot burning the boards below

barely balanced on the beams

a blossoming blemish

—

a sweet desire

purples and oranges through

the bedroom windows

clouds get closer everyday

and we will dissolve in the skyscape

nourished, well-fed, fulfilled

untethered from the hardwood floors

I hear our unborn child’s footsteps

down the hall

pitter patter - a sweet sound

—

heavy in the sack

pick apart the bones

yeah she’s my sweet

wide mouth / cook book

like I said

momma’s back in the kitchen

—

ancient herbs and grains

packed in a minimalist container

labeled for sale at your local brick & mortar

promising better sleep

as these months blur together

the most dangerous commercials

we’ve been terrorized with television problems

suppose you’re being lied to - would you ever even know?

—

in search of nitrogen

and UV rays

watered weekly

well-behaved

some have been with me for years

heavy hands make for heavy pockets

picket signs or picket fence

go toe to toe with a park bench

disassemble and dismantle

my head is stuck on this again

repetition and random patterns

what do you have to show

when this is all done

back to the basics or back to destruction

—

there’s a ceiling fan

caked with dust

violently rotating off its axis

mix and matched bulbs

broken ball chain

I gazed at it nightly

until I found out - I owned nothing

—

cover your cute face

read left to right

get out of the city

this is the economy of touch

the only commodity that is ours

proceed with caution

—

insulation / isolation

protected by trade

a bright mohawk is an overused symbol

but the concept is there

look at me - a peacock

with opposable thumbs

chirping up a storm

citing experts on inequality

and philosophers on systematic oppression

the hotel lobby

palms rested on the wall

feet pointed at the ceiling

a gut laugh heard through the casino

i wouldn’t have it

any other way

—

chewing through another empty plate

pointing at flaws

running styrofoam between two fingers

sowing buttons on to loose fabrics

growing tomatoes on the fire escape

visiting the local shooting range

what happens on earth stays on earth

—

it was a good run

round and spinning

apart of the milky way alone

the old magicians

have been found out

maybe, maybe it’s just a false hope from the new things to observe there - until they find themselves in immense despair with their surroundings again

or maybe they’ll find themselves to be more than a writer, a new passion or something else to love

maybe is such a cheap way to answer this isn’t it?

Bukoski was a miserable cunt in California

Allen Ginsburg was a miserable cunt in New York

“to don’t be afraid it’s only love” is out now! get on amazon, barnes & nobles, or archway bookstores!

“a thought-provoking poetry collection that eschews the traditional mechanics of writing to capture the pace and cadence of modern love.”

get your copy today!