Dispatches from the Suicide Hours of Immortality

The poem is a pied piper for the rats in my mind

the sunday times 6.17.18

nothing lost


eyes heavy

half way thru


slow time exhales


good use searches

for better outlets


no waste

for this dying day


trapped and triggered


light hangs above

tempting the reach of endeavor


to break the tenuous grasp

of lethargy and malaise


as other sides await.




catching fire

behind the eyes


torrents and deluge


creeping brigades

of dread and minutiae



in the early hours

of another beautiful day


we wake


we turn away

or dive in


bringing every moment

that has ever been

forward into the next


every step of the way.


flowers in the wild


slow roll

of delicate



the brushing sway

of lonely fields

signal the storm


rife with impension

and unfounded dread


we break the same way we mend

we love the same way we die


whether it’s

subtly and quietly


or screaming hysterically

as we careen into a ditch.


giving way


in the moonlight of the mind

shadows wave goodbye

until daybreak


stolen away

in the vastness of dream

and expectation


assumptions denied


nothing left but a useless train of thought


yesterday was yesterday

farther away than tomorrow

could ever be


so here is today


to have

to hold

to be


whatever it is

we wish.


“Clouds come floating into my life,

no longer to carry rain or usher storm,

but to add color to my sunset sky.”

  • Rabindreth Tagore

the sunday times 6.10.18

mystery & resolve


eyes met

ways deferred


long haul taken

on either side


to bitter and better ends









into the unknown light

of what will come.


deep weight


strung across the days

time falls from meaning


hard to breathe

while holding your breath


the worst is always willing

in the ways of the mind






thru the hands

of moments gone


as light unburdens the heart of its darkness

without diminishing its presence


just enough

to see beyond the difference

of everything that remains.


gone between


acts of balance

thru tides unbound


hearts amidst the wires

barbed and connected


bleeding stones

washed ashore

turning white flags red


to signal

both the beginning

and the end.


parts unknown


keeping even

thru the strain

of storm and shine


the down coming up

to return


waves relent before

the next big crash


but soon the sun, they say…


but sometimes not


for longer winters

of strange teeth

cutting deeper veins


glaring obscurity

slowly revealed


to trust

the fall

in time


threading hope

thru patch and scathe


expectation gives way

to nothingness


and the peace

of being at ease

with never knowing why.


“Perhaps wisdom is realizing how small I am,

and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.”

  • Anthony Bourdain



the sunday times 6.3.18

face down


no sign from

the other side


light low

and muted



from equation

after equation


accept and release


control and none


needing only

truth and reason

to understand.


all good


hope walks the wire

night after night


high above the darkness

words at a minimum


trusting the heart

to reach out when needed


and bring with it

the light of day.




half imagined

in dead night dark


shook from sleep

and strangled mind


to epiphanous admission

from new places known


arcing towards

a violet sky


the words

we dream

come true.


status quota


slowly steady

different pages turned


catching up

and stepping back


no rush

no wait


here today

here tomorrow


constantly becoming

who we are.


slate and blade


sliding frames

out of the context

of necessity


only the meaning matters


caught in the mind

patterns of disarray


the impetus of imagination


wonder is key

as not all maladies

seek a cure


but rather only a theory

or a story is needed


to follow thru indication

upward from mythological root


toward a wider truth

freed from the exactness

of definition.


“In a world whose absurdity appears to be so

impenetrable, we simply must reach a greater

degree of understanding among men, a greater sincerity.

We must do this or perish.”

  • Albert Camus

the sunday times 5.27.18

feeling real


extricated from lines of fire


training thoughts to illuminate

the dreamlike caverns of the wandering psyche


to bring light

to the daily darkness

of life and meaning


whether making a way

where none can be found


or breathing inside the wait

for the answers to present themselves.


strange waves


pieces of puzzles


patching creeds to fit

the cosmic crimes of karma


slight and victimless

save for ourselves


staring skulls in the faceless void

we are nameless and without form


the dream of a giant

asleep in the heart

of a burning star.


just once


all asked






to no dream

of never


only her eyes

wide and bright



the depth

of my soul


with a laugh

and a sigh





places of our own


good hard looks

inside and out



of resonance

and remiss


keeping close the option

of being gone for awhile


behind the walls

of sorrow or joy


nothing matters but what does

at any given and fleeting moment


out of sync

and retreating

to our own devices


be they defense

or stability


we will return

fresher and brighter

for the time away



as hopefully hopeless

as before.


“The world breaks everyone,

and afterward some are strong

at the broken places.”

  • Ernest Hemingway


the sunday times 5.20.18

here again


streets gone by like years

and times of trouble


slow lines

of zero tolerance


mantle somewhat reclaimed


time returned

to never again





for the mourning


up from the hollow

and the valley below


to strangers bound by family

gathering for life and death


searching for the promise

of something greater

than all of this.


time in space


stared thru


down from walls

and higher planes


beyond precipice

and perception


healingly forward

into fire and refinement


tweaks of tongue and tourniquet


the storm of coming days

upon the soul



second by



and returned

to the abyss.




grey heart black

stricken by revision


orchids hang like spiders

in shadows blind


back to caves

and haunts

and holy hells


as we walk

thru the fires of life







dog days


crimes redeemed

as trust reemerges

from previous voids


broken mirrors dusted

with greater presence


minor keys anchor the symphony


naught to mind

the failure of grander schemes

borne of bleary illusion


focused not on what is gone

and what will come


but solely

on what is good

and what is here.


“There’s nobody else to blame. You can’t fix it

and you can’t make it go away. It does no good appealing

to some ill-invented thunderer

brooding above some unimaginable crag…”

  • Lew Welch


the sunday times 5.13.18

two broken


lost in transmission

hanged time relents


falling forward

upon the breadth

of our bones


one breaking out

one breaking in


easy words fall deaf

from smallest talk


slaked by meaning

and conviction


deep in the kick

of love’s first glow.


life not lost


fever dreams fixed on crooked sights

too bright the darkness contained


here between sleep

and twisted sheets


morning dizzy

and shivering with runoff


the sky is open

to the sullen heart


aching to finally take flight.


habitual tradition


steeped and renounced

in the graveyard of generations


burning crosses

nailed to the psyche


youth bloodied

by worship and fear


until we are old enough to laugh

and bold enough to question


those who take ghost stories literally.


better use


turning wild

in the asphalt summer


too soon

the long burning days



upon the fragile mirror

of becoming


thru the ice

of every coming storm


beyond the projected image

of what we believe


we can only come to rest

on our own personal truth


as vague

or definitive

as we choose it

to be.


rage and grace


we come for battle

and stay for love


spat out into consciousness

from the cosmic womb


warriors from day one


fighting pain with joy

anger with acceptance


thru the rolling hills

of the meaning mind


the time between never and now

is always turning


from dream to nothingness

from desire to damnation


from life

to love

to death


ever falling

as we rise.


“You are born alone. You die alone.

The value of the space in between

is trust and love.”

  • Louise Bourgeois



the sunday times 5.6.18

out in the cold


held in a moment

by a dream never had


until the morning breaks in


and love

leaves only its shadow



scars and stripes


saved from nothing

by brilliant collapse


whispering wisdom

under breath and fallout


truth but the debris

of abomination


an afterthought

of penance and



offered to the gods of war

for too little death.




caught up

in the broken dance


new equations alter the balance

shifting consequence to deeper resonance


sides unwound

turned by underscore

and realignment


into different animals

of commitment and conviction.


bleed it out


steady hold


gone before

come again


elusion remains


every edge

ever piercing


days beyond days

beneath the wheel

behind the eyes



from borderline

to battering ram


drastic measures seem reasonable

in the lowest light of the smallest hour


somewhere in the red night

of this soulless city.


in the arms of may


down in power

the days come swiftly


barking dogs of the soul

strangers knock leaving only footsteps


love in the wings

death in the air


always something

to rattle the bones


whether it’s life leading back

or away


or just,




“I am alone here in my own mind.

There is no map

and there is no road.

It is one of a kind

just as yours is.”

  • Anne Sexton

the sunday times 4.29.18

heart of the valley


broken days saved

for better time


life shaped

in the sun and the streets

that surround


forward motion maintained


one and one

into the next


flux of permanence

and perspective consistent


wave after wave

to ride or die;


between words and silence

lay everything else

love can be.




quiet tension released

words free of blame


leveled up

from familiar places


far from gardens and freeways


simple complexities

come to light


breaking patterns of habit

and passivity


charge taking hold

in matter and mind


cracks traced in leaves of gold


for when brokenness is unburdened

its beast becomes the flower

it was always meant to be.


tomorrow’s dream


another night

no stranger than alone


haunting a familiar space

where everything went down

and slightly returned


nothing like anything ever was


but the same

in different ways


stirring in the darkness

of yesterday’s future


holding it all

so much dearer


than the day

i left

for good.


wide open


circled and crossed


all well

in any grander scheme


the blinds rattle

in the gray din

of sunday morning


far from clocks and calendars


out of stated mind

and things determined


fighting the blunder of instinct

to right the overturning


and re-emerge

thru the light

of day.



in the loneliest moments

i have been there

for myself.”

  • Sanober Kahn

the sunday times 4.22.18



drained from sickness

the ritual may suffer

but not the words


feeling scraped out and spent

slave to the whims of this funny machine


all skin and bones and nerves

and shallow immunity


many worse off

and none to complain


so I’ll take my cue from them

and push things forward.


stone by stone


open vessels

primed for departure


armed across the bow


weighted and willing

with baggage to spare


pages bright

with the burn

of reason


we turn

and turn.


everything there is


heavy on the turn

easy down the river


the house on fire

the mind at odds


kickdrum thump

to a melancholy waltz


boxes of puzzles

hearts full of rain


precariousness and imposure






cat toys


trust and seizure


hand in hand

flowers and beasts…


today is ours.


rise to shine


tolls taken

bridges reconstructed

chasms crossed


beneath the same sky

as the ruin that preceded


now returned

to right sight

and stable points

of turn


peace made

with the sickest self


and the architect

of its creation.


no code


a sleeve full of hearts

and the fading low light

of loneliness


masks burned away

long ago


no reflection too harsh to remind

of everything else lost in the fire


as another year

turns its way around


from the wreckage

that threw me clear.


“…sometimes blocked in,

sometimes reaching out,

one moment your life is a

stone in you, and the next,

a star.”

  • Rainer Maria Rilke

the sunday times 4.15.18

something new


different again

best ways possible


little things

said and done


no pretense

no fodder


just an easy,

simple comfort


that has set the heart

quietly ablaze.




down to bone

and wire


past rethreaded

and held up to

the light


traction gained

thru acceptance

and amends


nothing more held

by the lure of oblivion.


long slow burn


stepping back from thoughts of want

parameters recalibrated


easing in for the long haul


rolling with the sway

of solid ground


with new skin

for old wounds


foundations fully forged

in the fires between then

and now


interdependent upon

the common denominator

of forward motion


we consciously set out

along our own roads


side by side.


better places


stranger lands

of soul and solace


balanced between

otherworldly realms

of bang, blame, and barter


complacence is self-inflicted

there is always a higher truth to find


ways part and come back around

when tending to the dusted bones

of memory’s silver hands


so many different eyes

for the face of love


yet none of them matter

unless we are here.


“I’m lost. And it’s my own fault.

It’s about time I figured out that I can’t

ask people to keep me found.”

  • Anne Sexton