Put Your Head in the Sand

I was six years old
I remember when I said courage was saying, “Hey,”
Before something made somebody mark the earth

Foul on the play

Every time a new voice calls out, I’m the first to lose
Run girl run, Don’t look back, Hun
Everything lost to rum–‘r some kinda booze
“Foul on the play!”

“No excuse!”

Guess Church tied my hands together, bound
Like family, like blood, like red on the ground
Scatter, scatter, so just pound it out
Turn the other cheek
Get lost in the spell
Nah. Just pushing the world closer to Hell
‘Cause even if someone’s got something to say

“Shut up and color.”

“Flag on the Goddamned play!”

“Shoot the Ref!” They all seem to settle
Shh. Shh…

Just push this shit closer to Hell.


The Road Taken

Thinking about the old days again
About how I shaped the world with
only assumptions and a pen.
Now, I resist pulling things into parts.
Instead, I marvel at their creation
surrounded by so many starving hearts.

Of all my habits and my fall backs
I never could recover from the cliche
things, the already tread-ed tracks.
But now, I’ve deigned my own way.
And, as simple as that sounds
It’s come at a cost; some kind of back pay.

“I can’t breathe.” I oft hear the words now
Like the restlessness of ten years ago
has returned like a seasonal plow.
Churning over the darker, richer earth
I walk an old path, unabashedly renewed–
uncaring of all Robert Frost’s berth.

Of Breeze, Hookah Lounge

New haunts
Take a breath…
Let the mania abate
Nearly staunched
Wounds, bleeding
Drowning the old scars
The preconceptions
Lost in the fog of new bars
Under the same stars
Newfound faces
Wearing the same masks
That cover the same actors on the stage
Advice, taken, almost sage
Overwhelmed by the same sadness
Amid the savage grace
Take a breath…
Like the same arms
That cradled you, marred
Gaunt with the promise of re-ghosting
Old haunts
Take a breath…

Another Revenge-Fueled Haircutting

Whose advice did you follow?

‘Cause it ain’t mine.

Whose bad idea did you swallow–

Or are you really out of your mind?!

You’re not taking me down!

Didn’t break my back for your sake.

I didn’t go outta my way to clean ground

To sweep up your mistakes!

You think you know me?

You can’t even see my shadow,


What do you know, Jezebel Above?

What do you know about love?

What do you know, Delilah Above?

What do you think you know about love?

As Far As You Go, I Will Follow

Ties that bind?

Binds that show

Family roots in blood grow.

Taller we get–

We tower so high–

Or spread so like


You need me

Like I just need:

Like food, like water

Like all we breathe.

You hold me tight.

I’ll take that blade.

There aren’t many bad things

I can’t unmake.

I don’t regret

What can’t be undone.

Take me down to

Where the red rivers run.

Blind my eyes.

Hide my soul.

Before your shine

I’m dust and coal.

Ties that bind

Are binds that show.

Violence is forgotten, sown–

The Family that roots in blood

Only grows.

This’un Here’s Guilty, Yer Honer

I can attest it was not the best; not asking questions about my arrest.

So, lemme start my testimony of regret by explaining the mess…

And end on a rhetorical question because I suck at surmising gone-wrong quests.

Even my agreeable emotions oft patronize each other’s greater enterprise.

My stubbornness and my hate criticize–

They can’t seem to coincide.

They can’t coexist inside

So they refuse to fight, fighting over rights to fight while still slighting…

Until one of them dies out of spite, biting:


Like the world inside me tilts until I can’t stand still and the axis melts

Like steel beams

And jet fuel.

I break down. Red faced. Disgraced. Bile chased down with a beer to keep my head clear…

Which one is left inside me to answer for what I must do?

As the hot fury rushes through

I wonder why it always come to

Being completely unglued.

There’s the answer there.

Tension. Sparks. Hammer.

The sword in the forge gorged by water too sordid with the slag the smith tried to frag drags the temperature down to a breaking point…

And as the ball peen comes down, my insides shatter.

When passive stubbornness and hot anger duke it out over who will throw the first punch…

And I do

I’m not sure if it was the doing or the not-doing that put me in the drunk tank side of the slammer…

So, does it matter?