I am no horseman.

the murky
stagnate water surrounded him
on his descent to the lake bed
the rush of aquatic envelopment
exhilarating
and nearly washed the shame
moss and dirt
from the rapidly sinking rock
who knew that life on the surface
was no longer possible
after seeing the clapping arms
smug smirks
and contemptuous snarls
of scissors
as he explained why paper always wins
________________________________________

there is a playground
where no kids laugh
no moms smile
and no dads come back
and I embrace the silence like
my faceless future wife
and let my aching feet
carry me
through the birds and the bees
who’re swarming and
stinging and clawing
with needles
and talons so darling
darling
darling
darling don’t turn around
don’t look behind you!
darling don’t turn around
or god’s glare will find you!

It's been a while

8 hours with no window to wish through
smoking secret cigarettes
sinking reasons not to kiss you

in the river that bore us
and gave us our names
silly silly devices

keeps me complacent
playing their games
and tightening vices

_________________

The moon and stars aren’t interested
The tide still rolls in
The birds build their nests
And warm their eggs
The faces on the subway
Don’t flinch at your condition
The trains arrive on time

Across town the waiting room is packed
A nurse rushes in

Across town a door is kicked in
A woman screams

Across town a bullet ruins a cashmere sweater
And the business man sporting it
A baby is born


The pavement
The soil
The lilacs
The spider in your kitchen
And the moths
making love to the porch lamp
hide their faces from your tears

__________________________

the stilts we wear aren’t made
of forest remains
or smelted metals

the common strangers
won’t know what to think
of our parade

they’ll throw dollar bills at our feet
or fists at out faces
but we’ll scoff
on our soap boxes
and high horses

and open a page of Berman


_Jackson Grind

Let's be honest

I asked who i was
and it landed me on this barstool
i requested romance
and now i'm stuck
swimming in this bottle
shrunk down to the size of a moth
and behaving quite the same

the most i can ask for
at this point
is the ironic satisfaction
i get when i drink
from the tit
of a baby's bottle

Jackson's Qualms

i want to explode
kick and scream
in a flash of light
i want to be a firework
the glorious ascent
and a simple exit
that inspires
oo's and aah's
or the covering of ears
an impact nonetheless
i want the nurse to walk in
i want to let everyone know
but it must be kept a secret
for darkness
and closets
and best friends who understand
understand so well
there's no point in talking about it
kept a secret
for girls with sympathetic lips
and smiling eyebrows
or for mockingbirds
so i'll finally
be able to relate to something

instead i
scribble furiously
scribble myself onto paper
scribble a portrait of aches
and confusion
a portrait that no one can paint
ill scribble until the pen breaks
until my heart sinks
until the paper is shredded
and i'm left in tears
sorting scraps
and pounding the table
that has disappointed me again

Late Night Haiku

there is something romantic
about wine bottles
after i have emptied them




warmly romantic
comforting
lonely at my desk

The Funny Thing is...

skeletons are made of math
phospholipid fingertips
hearts are stopwatches

lips ooze with honey
throats swallow gold coins
and regurgitate ashes
which bend the sun
and tarnish feathers

homes are made of melting ice
pyrite smiles
sympathies are pins and needles

yet, i still don't know how i feel
about this outfit

these women keeping
me up all night

and your insightful assumption
that everything is falling apart

_jackson grind

She

She lingers alongside
a stubborn cloud of smoke
amongst cigarette butts
and rose petals
cradling hope for the morning
when her name will be painted
in the sky
and she won't be afraid to follow

blanketed in delusion
the bottom branches of the oak
laugh, as they did when she was young.
skyscraper penthouses
kiss the clouds more audaciously
and wink in her direction.

It may be she's lost an inch or two
or maybe, at her specific
latitude and longitude
the ground sinks
until her fingertips
glance off the apple

yet still, she taunts the sea
dodging the waves
and shooting seductive looks
upwards, toward the moon
making him blush
and the tide roll in

_jackson grind