A Wasteful Slump

Full waste bins dance
On the cusp of death
At the helm of each day

Each hour
New madness breeds
A screeching terror
Unseen, through tortured eyes

Moments crash-land
Devoid of purpose
Scouring my spine
A tried and true menace

Little unfolds
In these vast
Amorphous days
From an earth
So parched with desire


Into the Bittersweet Night

The embers
Of a day’s fine farewell
Freely rage
All through, the stillborn dusk

A fiery farewell
To unease
The arcing peril
I reap
From the tussling dawn

I part ways, enrobed
In bittersweet dreams
Faithfully inbound
To a simmering rest

A slumber marooned
To an isle of far-ago ruin
In a high noon’s glow

Upon the Cold Dead Ground

This cold dead ground
Comfort commands
My worthless treads

All is lost
And stillborn thoughts
Ensnare, my vital signs

Nothing more
Is sacred or savored
From these pillowy heights

Where the whole of my youth
So defiantly
Rages away

Where time
Must stream
In a hateful
And foaming rush

The Hills I Know

Scarred hillsides
Eclipse the world
And all
Her shimmering glory

Forevermore plagued
With long-lost efforts
Discolored and maimed
By roads
So wishfully carved

Is my foremost villain
To strive in vain
And swallowed by muck

Is the curse I know
It thrives and fumes
From the tatters
In which
True peril resides

Overflowing Gutters

The world
Overflowed with rage
Unleashed in panicked streams
For the gutters of his mind

And all too soon
He staggered
In the curves of his youth
On the fumes of mankind

In his hollow gaze
Was the stroll of kin
For whom he lovingly strained
From infernal distress

All too soon he was crushed
In the surge
In the foam of the world
And boiling with strife

A Desolate Stream of Thought

In a desolate space
The world freely turns
In the colors of spite

My refuge groans
Far-gone in age
As the world
Intrudes and calls

Drawing my feet
To the fall
A frightful decline
And the rushing
Certainty of awe

I am joyously bound
To bask in the open
To reap every morsel
These roads
So kindly bestow

Fair-Weather Affection

I miss her
Whispering disarray
Feeding the frantic swarm
In my chasm of faults

The slow murderous burn
Of each vicious word
From lustful ears

The slow decay
Of a full day’s joy
In the swell of her being

I miss the few
And far-between triumphs
I may treasure with ease
And lovingly recall

Kevlar Dreams

If only
I’d diminish
From the raging masses
And treasured by mist

If only
I’d disband
Into Kevlar dreams
From tragedy’s true scorn

If only
The nights would swallow
The bulk of my days
And dark

Heaven-Bound Resolve

I am wrung useless
In the brute sun’s rays
Devilish and fallen
As the plunderer of dreams

Is heaven- bound
Plucked clean in haste
From this tiresome
And hollow skull

Docile I collapse
In vengeful streams
Conjured, with tottering ease

Few are spared
And spoon
With their sweltering dismay
Withering in sync
With time’s
Most hateful decline

The Storm-Bearing Shroud

Strayed beyond
Ancestral roads
I thrived
Uprooted and sure

Beyond the slurs
In hollow distress
Wavered, in the restless
Curves of time

Staggering deep
In uncertainty folds
All conflict is lost
In a storm –bearing shroud

Yet I have strayed
Beyond my means
The ancestral roads
Were kind
And paved
And sure