there is a fine line
between life and death

at least, there was
until you snorted it

threw your head back
winced in pain

as i exclaimed
“that’s NOT cocaine!”


still, i must report

the ochre ache
each day

in its apprisal

clement spires

the framed inversions

set to sine

whose firmament
was forged in limbo

cast in curse

through time

i guess
it was not all
a loss

at least
as long
as you got high

red sun

i saw the sky
succumb to gray

when last i held
my head up high

the storm was nigh

though stern
with pride

it washed away
my wistful sigh

and in its wake
a will awoke

whose end
spoke ire forthcoming

and to this day
the red sun, scorching

tends the toil
that whispers i

upon eden

you know
you’re alone

when you walk
along seams

in a somatic suit
not fit
to be tied

swaddled up
by the scenes

blaring in the periphery

and all you can do
is stare

down at their feet

it is here

where you meet her

the mother
of earth

as a seed
she had sown

when the samhain sun set

and the darkness

to a soul

upon eden


this one goes out
to the loyal believers
in those of us
prone to fall
from the earth’s face

without the support
and forethought they bequeath us
our will to go on
would diminish
post haste

and though we may not always
properly thank them
in ways that would truly
convey how we feel

our unending gratitude
stays with us always
regardless of whether or not
it’s revealed

for even the smallest of gestures remain
a part of the tapestry
weaved by such memories

mitigating the duress of each day
and giving us comfort
within life’s infirmary