The Last Page

My hand cramped
as I wrote the final words
across the page. Its black
leather cover had guarded
its contents well.

It does not know it's age,
I am certain it is fully
unaware of it. Only a
sentimental creature could
care about such things.

The pages are all filled
with half-remembered
thoughts, bad poems,
memories, and line
breaks too casual

to remember. Why
do this? Who is this
all for? It's always been
for an audience of one
and always will be.

When The Light Goes Out

The parents died in a car crash in New York. They were
both so young, only twenty-one years old each. She was
pregnant with their first child. The driver and passenger
of the car that hit them both fled the scene on foot. How
stupid a thing to do these days. It is only a matter of time
before they are caught and rightfully vilified by the press
and public. The husband and wife were taken to separate
hospitals were they died apart from one another. They
managed to save the unborn child from the womb of its
dead mother. They said the child was in critical condition
yesterday. The headline of the news this morning said
the baby had died. How many more today? Most will be
unknown. Most will be unmourned by the world. One life,
one-hundred lives, the extinguishing of a flame too soon,
but when is ever the right time for us?

Silent Ways

I.

We sat in silence and stared 
out the windshield.

She turned her head and looked 
at me for a moment.

I kept looking straight ahead.


II.

"You mind if I put some music on?"
I said I didn't. She reached 

for the floor and the beat-up
cd cases sitting there.

The floor was such a mess.


III.

She picked my favorite album
by Miles Davis. On the cover

his face gazes a sight we 
cannot see. 

Droning organ, us, closer.

Another Random Collection of Odds & Ends

What I have found has been lost.

Don't bother looking for it

I don't need it. It's time with me

has passed.

It begins its life anew without me.

This is a perfectly acceptable 

turn of events. How boring

we would all be 

                          without some

instability in our lives. Routine

grows expectation, cages spirit.

Vision guided by invisible blinders.

Mandatory Extinction

I've got something to say but I've lost my voice again.

Something has to change.

Everything is going to change.

The Future Isn't The Kind Of Place I'd Like To Be.

Honesty will get you nowhere.

I heard about what happened.

I'm not blaming you

for his actions

but you didn't help.

You didn't have

to offer him any.

You know he was 

trying to stay off

the junk. All it took

was one last time.

Tear down temple,

the statues have fallen

and cracked upon the floor.

Dreaming the Gods to life.

Converge into light.

Selling the Sky.

How To Not Seal The Deal

I type the image across the space

and juxtapose it against a frame of memory.

They will be a contrast to one another

as I interpolate a meaning between both.


They sit next to each other in white space

as I wonder where to go, what to further say.

More words appear, thoughts half-formed,

development marred by immaturity.


Music will echo in place of words, uneasy

breaks, enjambments that have nothing

to do with homemade preservatives,

much to everyones dismay.


The cursor blinks knowingly, unsurprised

by any of this. What a job that must be.

Predictability of the muse is only in her

instability and our inability to finish the