Here I Come to Save the Day     Coke Zero, You are my hero, here to save this damsel from distress, disorder, and dozing. Praise the Lord!   (A shadorma is a six line poem with a syllable count of 3/5/3/3/7/5, respectively. As a…

abandoned house weathered, worn she sleeps now dreaming of what was striped of her outer coat cracks and leaks “tap tap, tap” a woodpecker tries to awaken her spirit but the old venetian’s left behind do not open her eyes to the world remain closed

As I stand before the washing machine, I realize that nothing has changed in ten years Except the size of her clothes. – Yesterday, I sprayed SHOUT! all over the blemishes ground deep into the fibers of her clothes; Grass stains on the knees of…

There’s a certain liberation to realizing you are someones worst fear. Its doubly enjoyable when that someone is a loved one   embrace their nightmare embrace the boogeyman of your trans self that self they want to be a perfect porcelain doll instead you are…

I am the Gatekeeper to the Ferryman My soul black as the heart of man My light deceives any hope of happiness My path offers a peaceful stroll without obstacles My music bids a cheery welcome to quicken your pace My outstretched hand gently guides…

After six decades, how did I know so little?   I catch myself in cellphone photographs, cheek jowls still firm,   teeth bared, grinning into the camera, as if my problems were invisible, nonexistent.   Behind me, a backdrop of rivers and trees,   an…

  I tell my story, from the genesis Of Sarkin pawa like country song On a patriots mouth. The radio Flourishes in broken signals in a distance That is yet to be of us, My not yet [dead] father; perfume In the world, whistles to…

The art of empty walls, blank pages Intimidating, enticing, the artist, poet What colors, lines, words, beauty will honor the sacrifices made to create this place? What a blessing, a curse, it is to wield such power through brush, pen  

What’s at the center of a black hole? They say darkness, nothingness, A crushing weight that nothing survives. Others the absence of light, and nothing More, just a void to float and see yourself As infinitesimal as you really are. But whether you are crushed…

Don’t recite this poem. If you do, then expect the falls of rain. Maybe your heart will stop that fuming thick black smoke. Maybe your eyes are meant to stay next to her glabella. Things might change. Maybe your heart is tired and not sick….