Dispatches from the Suicide Hours of Immortality

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

the sunday times 9.16.18

states of need


valves of intake

cleared and recalibrated


new blood for the letting night

reason exchanged for random emotion


proper vents in place

all that comes will go


and you will be dragged

to your eventual death by

anything and everything


unless you learn

to stop holding on.


mourning blue


thinking of you

as you think not

of me


somewhere new and grown into

where there is nothing for me


for what little room in your heart

you had for me


has since been filled

by things i’ll never know.


holding ground


accepting the actual reality of the moment

does not validate the content of belief


the intention is to undo resistance

toward the emotional experience

of the instant


in the midst

of hardwired tendencies

of reactivity


as we endlessly crawl

toward the light.


void and fire


nothing to do

with anything


threads bare

and free




the day


nowhere to go

but blue


asking entrance

and acceptance


a fair trade

for the scars

of love






thru the labyrinth

of the heart.


getting on


pulling hooks

from holes in

the heart


closing circles

and packing up


hope still burns



old ways and habits return

only reminders to make new ones

right quick


for loss can swallow you whole

fully and completely


so pay attention

and keep your fucking wits about you


as sad and blue as it gets

you must always be vigilant


keep moving


because if you’re just sitting around

waiting for the next moment

to contain what this one does not






“Why should it be so hard giving up

seeking something you know you can’t possess?”

  • Lew Welch

the sunday times 9.9.18

not this, not that


gates crashed

broke and entered


somewhere inside

all is good


even in the midst

of everythingallatonce


there is a safe space


every storm

has its eye


constant yet evolving

adapting and embracing

all that is


seek this place

know this place


leave a trail if you must


for you will never

not need

to find it.


at long last


ever the circle

wrung around

corners cut


embers of memory

burn and remind


here before

back again


the only difference

being time and response


and knowing now

only a change of habit


can bring about

the habit of change.


turn towards


sides flipped


nothing doesn’t belong


suffer the fool

of your past self


be the ground

let yourself crumble


to find your moment of truth


and live outward

from there.


inner weather


systemic fronts

roll in undetected



in nerve

and bone


embedding codes

of reaction and decay


deep in the fibers

of optic recall


until muscles strangle

and tendons tear


from the historic weight

of everything we have never

let go.


better be damned


odds are best

either way


no venture expected

without doubt


focusing rather

of the calm persistence

of presence


somewhere between

no longer and not yet.


“A thousand dreams within me

softly burn.”

  • Arthur Rimbaud

the sunday times 9.2.18

at hand


crosses bared

as the nights wear on


setting controls

for the heart of a

brighter sun


downturn swayed to advantage

beating the laws of only average


roads and roads

always away


until we change direction

and head inside.


negative theory


from the waste of want

purity of pain will stem


from the disdain of lovelessness

bloom the flowers of death


from cracks of light

breed the existence

of emptiness;



are not

the universe








deep wake


greater odds determined

overthought and undermined


lost on leaving trains

into smoke and silver


the heart still fresh with forgetting


never this far

never this free


to start over

again and again


in the hollow of in-between

there can be safety and ease


once the anger and sadness

have burned away


once we delve again

beneath the broken surface


to right the ship

once more…


for what are we

but our past in the present

learning to surrender

to the unknown horizon

that lay ahead.


hopeful abandon


mountains unmoved

as rejection continues to validate

the inner monologue


the ongoing myth of my-self

haunts the psyche like a hungry ghost


buying the lies of the mind


embedded in the blueprint

beyond the service of memory


translating modern pain

thru antiquated modes

of code and cipher


forcing need into faulty

and structurally corrupt geometry


as light crawls the settled dust of forgetting


finally knowing full well

but still struggling to accept


that the only way

to face the inevitable points of break

is with the blinding certainty

that everything

is uncertain.


“Between stimulus and response there is a space.

In that space is our power to choose our response.

In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”

  • Viktor Frankl

the sunday times 8.26.18

the world is slow and blue


hard to know

where i am sometimes

always few and far between


or another


lodged behind the heart

peering out from the coral


as the sunlight

breaks the surface

and this beautiful life

sinks on in.



one in the afternoon


here from gone

always back around


sadness like a cloud

love like a ghost


the heart a shadow

cast in the shade


here from gone

always back around


sunlight like immortality

pain like a flower


the mind a secret

lost in a storm


here from gone

always back around


this room like a tomb

these words like a song


this soul a bright parade

down avenues of the damned


here from gone

always back around.


touch & go


distance remains

without return


left in the fade

urged to let go


still too bright the memory

still too raw the nerve


as scars cover wounds

with thicker skin


only forward

is strength;


she still haunts my dreams

in the most beautiful way.


trace amounts


still missing


shadows cross

the vague periphery


last love gone


minding the gap,

the emptiness,

the sorrow


being with it

for lack of something,




letting go the why

letting be the now


over and over

until it’s enough









from impulse

to manifest


control to reactivity

intensity thru fixation


circles boring holes in the mind






needing break

and recondition


to reset the rails

and burn a better path.


“It’s not enough to say ‘Yes, I’m in pain’,

You must acknowledge and experience it.

Then, little by little, accept it. Once you do that,

it gives you the means to move forward.”

  • Michael Taft


the sunday times 8.19.18

fresh hell


out from the arms of love

strangeness and sameness abide


the same sun

burns different now


yet similar to

summer’s past


new light

is nothing new


a cage

is a cage is

a cage


laughed the roses

out loud.


fade in


fault lines imagined

tethers severed


masked backward

in turning time


down backstreets

and alleys of the mind


dark with the secrets of dusk

the heart courts the dawn

toward better days


and all things

good for the soul.


solace for infinity


dread bearing down

as slumber crawls the mind

in the smallest hours before daylight


dark rooms of mourning

hold keys to moving on


feel the weight of your bones

and the sadness within


let it rise with the sun

into the waiting blue


and begin again.


over easy


settled in dust

the fading spark

barely blue


wires crossed in tangle

blind to corners turned


ending up mired in nowhere


too soon to be so deep

too late to be so sad


things break

pages turn


holding in wait

somewhere close

to the heart


hope knows better

but plays along


if only to welcome

the dark comfort

solitude affords.


already here


thru the motions

voids remain in

secret places


missing from where we are


one side down

one side away



like stones

slowly turned


released from the weight

of not knowing enough

to move on.


“The big challenge in life is

to chisel disappointment into wisdom

so people respect you and you don’t annoy

your friends with your whining.”

  • Marc Maron



the sunday times 8.12.18



patterns hold under pressure


traps of the mind

sprung and reset


as the heart follows suit


back to the walls

of every night forward


for now

and future



these words

need be enough


to fill the holes

that sit in the dark

and wonder why.


closing bell


emptiness adorned

in latitudes beyond



pieces in the ether

miraculously eschew


heavy lids

weighted secrets


each to each other

and gone


brushing away

the loose ground

of false foundations


to unearth the blank slate

beneath the broken heart.


last light


down across the sky


still burning

into the dark


the city dissolves

beneath the tongue


and with it

the bitterness

of love leaving.


clean break


control wrested

from chains of

the heart


back to the empty shadow

of the space beside me


soon to fade and

forget the reason

and carry on


for loss is to be gotten over


in hopes of some day

striking gold again


and this time,

keeping it.


“The eternal quest of the individual

human being is to shatter his loneliness.”

  • Norman Cousins

the sunday times 8.5.18

negative space



another sunday

falls thru the clouds


from early gray

to burning pavement


nothing sound

least of all mind


reeling from stalemate

and static


from chatter and minutiae


a few more seconds

a few more minutes

a few more hours








sea and sky


dust glitters

filled with light


strewn and scalded


petals of doom

in the flower of

the heart


aching for boundlessness

and truth


so we dream because

we cannot fly


and we wake

because we cannot



crave and blame


moments inherit

the space we’re in


be it sorrow or joy


escape is never

a feasible option


still the swarm

of thought and dream

will follow


over and thru


returning to scene after scene

scouring what’s left of scar and sadness


held in a pattern

of endless turning


habitually overestimating

the domain of control


compelled to obsess

and never leave well

enough alone


forever pulled away

and longing to come home.




outside the lines

void in the clear


grayed and subtracted


tides of emotion

roll and crash


gone again from

the heart of chance


as the road narrows

trailing off into dusk


and the sun sets

beginning another night’s

burning down.


Loneliness adds beauty to life.

It puts a special burn on sunsets

and makes night air smell better.”

  • Henry Rollins






the sunday times 7.29.18

grasping at straws


there is this that could be

and this that won’t


and love somewhere

in between


drawn back to what never was

in hopes of what it still may be


if nothing changed

but everything;


retreaded and overthought


such the fine line between

the one that got away

and the one that needed

to go


and my mind hangs and scrapes

picking and pulling at these things


until nothing

and no one

is left.


down a road


here in the red night

of the wandering mind


quickness cut

to mortal bones


inside echoes

another forever gone


thoughts obsessed on possession

with tenuous holds on anything

closer to the heart


surrendering sweetly

to another broken something


farther from somewhere

i already thought i was


going someplace i couldn’t be


just an oasis

in this desert

of lonely nights


a vague sadness descends

and mostly dissipates upon


the reoccurring realization

that no matter what


all can still be well

without most things


we think we can

never live without.


gut check


reflecting presence

stripped of scar and shadow


braced for becoming

again and again


and just as evidence suggests

there will never be an end to darkness


so does it suggest

a better light can be found


with each new rise, fall, and fuck-up


but only

under one condition:


keep going.


dark gold



by slumber

and solitude



and deeper







lightly dusted

with sorrow

and hope






for confinement

and recalibration


and the strange kindness

these words have to offer.


“Why is it

thunder’s first announcement

of impending black

can calm me easier than daylight?”

  • Rod McKuen



the sunday times 7.22.18

bone hollow


birds and stones

too many and

not enough


little things

chip away


as the pinhole

swallows the chasm

swallows the abyss.


suffer some


all along the way

pain comes as love goes


sadness leaves

while joy returns


death waits

as life approaches


this is proven

this is truth


everything is impermanent


and whether everything has a reason

or everything is a lesson or indeed

if everything is completely random at best

is anyone’s guess…


but you may want to consider it all

as necessary


and instead of constantly holding on


just try

to keep




fade out


over in the mind


the reason

and the words


the drift of ways to part

in the dark of the heart


shadows ache for substance

cloaked by the wantless need

for certainty or closure


quietly settling

for neither.


the sharpness of objects


here in the light of darkness

reading too much into everything

and then some


trying to break my own heart

before anyone else has another chance


done before

and done again


self-inflicted preemptive strikes


trading pen for tongue

words for wisdom

and pain

for poetry.




rise on

thru drift

and haze


remember love

practice love

be love


falling back

into old ways

never pans out;


center your peace


and circle outward

from there.


“Some say love is a disease,

a fire in the blood that burns

every human city down.

I’ll take my chances.”

  • Erica Jong


the sunday times 7.15.18

like this


everything now

is a start

or an end

or simply

a way thru


both ends burning

meeting at the spark

somewhere in the middle

every so often


and then,




both the hardest

and the easiest part

is just letting things be

what they are.




the longing ease

of what is here


the days remain shadows

of what we are


still the steady flow

of life and river run


as the fires of time

burn us alive.


if anything


falling back

on broken pillars of thought


the trap of mind

making its presence known


still the madness of habit

the doubt of guessing seconds


as the time

spent away from the moments


adds up

to everything

that is not here.


no different


pointless communion

for the sake of words

and appearance


to quell the emptiness

until it returns


away for too long

the distance begins to matter


with no sign

of any change

less than drastic.


minus one


never with ease

are ways parted


even when expected

and braced for the blow


pieces fall away

and what’s left

is left


what’s learned

is learned


and, hopefully,

what’s lost

can still be treasured

for everything

it once was.


“Love breaks my bones,

and I laugh.”

  • Charles Bukowski