today i find myself detached to many emotions that transpiring me with this week prior to the poetry marathon i try not to attach with my feelings it drives me much too insanity metaphorically still life goes on firmness and endurance in a task always…

Being a novice in these matters, I was duped. I took the smile and wink Given over Tuesday tequila To mean love, or something like it. The sweaty romp between Egyptian cotton climaxed With fury and need. The desperate hunger Of a single moment in…

The 12th hour a poem dedicated to Luna…and the Man in the Moon Moon high in the sky looking down on us. I see the face of a boy child in 3-D, just my brother and me. It’s hard to determine his nationality. He has…

The steady beep, beep, beep proves I’m still alive, in case you were wondering. Every time the line peaks rest assured my heart is performing her duty. Blood is traveling, pumping through this vital organ– in and out, in and out. The only question I…

I’ve lost count Of rhyme and verse and beers And words that rhyme with beer But I’ll fix it all, even if my methods are queer The next will be counted fair And I’ll be more aware

Before it’s too late I must learn to appreciate The part of me that keeps me alive Eat better before it’s too late Help it pump better being improving my strides Because when it one days stops…so do I

Standing tall and I’m reaching Through the night and I’m reaching In the rain and I’m reaching Cold and Snow and I’m reaching Kids call me ‘base’ and I’m reaching Shade for all and I’m reaching Sticks are cute small parts of me Standing tall…

July Tenth Nineteen Hundred and Sixty Three The day the Gina came to be The day Alexander joined obscurity Before that day he was a family man After that day he was never heard of again Fifty three years later he has never been found…

MOSSY DEATH There’s a cemetery few have seen; it hides its dead, in the forest. No visitors allowed. Reads the sign.   Apparently when death arrived, no one cared. Piled on top of one another, some do lie, for eternity.   Death cars, you heard me…

Dear Charles Bukowski, You are my favorite drunk, poetic bastard You gambled with women and I heard your breath reeked of cigarettes and whiskey I am writing to you, you see Mr. Bukowski I used to write poetry to get into girls pants I settled…