Dispatches from the Suicide Hours of Immortality

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

the sunday times 12.9.18

nowhere near


ghosts of chance

rattle with inquiry

as new circumstances

slowly roll


anxious sleep

or none at all


the days wait well enough

easing out of the shadows

into this brand new light


easy and undemanding

far off in the safe distance

of not needing to know

what to expect.


dare to breathe


realms of abandonment

scarred walls of solace


redemption held in askance


thru a thousand darknesses

the heart will find its light


fires in the belly of emptiness

casting shadows on the black sails

of the psyche


mapless and aged upon

the lost roads of youth


we find out where we are

once we let go of where we’ve been.


mining the hollow


an infinite finality looms

vague definitions demand clarity


a copy of a copy

of a ghost of a whisper


forever will always be never

until time tells otherwise


all the wastes of space

taking up place after place


this here and now

is already there and gone


fear is a liar

endurance is hope


and the truth

will always be



back to life


nothing like before

ever after again


over we try

and turn and fail

and try


until our bones

begin to show


and the clockworks of the heart

slow to a crawl…


until we know death

like a friend


we can never be

as fearless as our

dreams demand.


“We watched the seasons pass,

we were as crystalline as snow

and melted gently into newer forms

as stars spun round our heads.”

  • Lenore Kandel

the sunday times 12.2.18

what have we here


…and though it’s been awhile

time still turns as it will


hours clogged with nonsense

finding moments now and then


to sift and sing thru

whatever there is to be


even if it’s only

to hide behind the light for now


and simply appreciate

the warmth of its presence.


crux of hollow


left wide open

for the crushing blow


forever braced

and worthy of need


no matter

the stance

or reach


there will always be sorrow

there will always be joy


be with it


or forever struggle

with the groundlessness

of existence.




long lines of faded grace

agony and redemption abide


cities of the mind

burn thru the night


as the days

rise from ruin


to find a better way

to keep the innermost

citadel alight


without setting

the whole goddamned

structure ablaze.


angles of uncertainty


bends and whispers

around and overheard


lost in the fog of translation


solid ground eludes when

strayed too far ahead


to know better now

than what’s to come


is enough to get us

where we need to be.


persistence of illusion


memory touched

by the slant of the mind


how things are remembered

are an extremely personal summation

of events transpired


beyond this

piqued emotion attaches

depending on our vantage


search for middle ground

that balances and pitches forward


deeper than the actuality of occurrence


for the value of relations

need be what guides us


to carry the good parts with us

for the best possible reasons.


“nothing matters but the quality

of the affection –

in the end – that has carved the trace

in the mind.”

  • Ezra Pound

the sunday times 11.25.18



lines bordered

along terms conditioned


heartward down

into the last of it


all ghosts thru

departure and arrival


well-worn turns

of fate and falter


ever to remind

we are only here

until we go.


burn in


root deep

released and



scraped away until

only scar remains



from depths



with lightness of

lessons learned


to welcome the clouds

as well as the sun


knowing they soon

will pass.


down with the ship


mind full of broken windows

as the rusted scenery rattles passed


all the lights

of life gone on


converged and spun

in the blink of a blinded eye


around again

until love breaks in


opened and bleeding

crawling and clawed


completely engulfed in flame


and although you know

she cannot be saved


it never stops you

from trying.




here where leaving left me

somewhere in another night

almost blue


nothing so special lost

but it’s the something i miss


the someone else

besides me

to be with


the other eyes

other arms

other legs

and all the rest


the softness between

the concrete walls of life


the evidence of the heart

found in the ashes of ruin


washed away

in one last kiss


gone missing

for what always seems like



““I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be

happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel


― Daniel Keyes

the sunday times 11.18.18

ungodly hours


faster than nowhere

down in a dying sleep


neon burns

drop by drop


from wounds crossed

and unstitched


from somewhere deeper than the heart

these words are nothing but sounds from a dark well


reflections from a cracked black mirror

faceless thru time.




distance removed

struck by timeless arrows


wakes left to crash

as they will


onto the next future ruins of the heart


black sheets of night torn

to reveal an even darker shade…


and away

we go.


as it fades


reminders cross

the burning fields

of vision


lodged in the periphery

before shaken loose


all without end

until every hammer





off and slight



in fearful flight


fight left

for better times


never the odds be even

ever the heart be an echo


an empty husk

of a conjured beast


imploding outward

from the void within.


this and nothing more


from darkness, light


the skull


the skin


solid and ghastly


chattering away

with nonsense


caged in bone

walled in stone


pounding the keys

until a symphony

takes shape;


hope is the fire

that burns us all



life on a dead planet


fire in the air

bullets in the wind


november in los angeles


nowhere in sight

thru the smoke of serenity


insignificance magnified

hearts tried and turned


down countless mountains

thru a thousand oaks


forever we fall

forever we rise


seasonless and resilient.


“We have to face the pain we have been running from.

In fact, we need to learn to rest in it and let its

searing power transform us.”

  • Charlotte Beck

the sunday times 11.11.18

maybe never


drawn back

countless threads traced


a destiny derailed

or simply an unaccepted fate


a callous turn of season

toward a darker time


solitude unravels

side by side


separate from

our parted ways


still the distance

in memory’s reach


emotion escapes

thru breached entry


well thought over

but the mind has a heart of its own


riddled with arrows

and bathed in the crimson hue

of the dying rose.


shadow recognition


past away

but not for long


down and returned

other than before


undetected in the open air

held beneath consciousness


forming dark undercurrents

that hinder the joy of weightlessness;


to truly know yourself

inside and out


is to never

give yourself away

too soon.


into the pit


what is it

that keeps me

circling back

to more than

what was


to deeper

than needs

to be gone


to grasping for

and clinging to

things let go

again and again


to this ache of emptiness

in the center of my being


to this connection

eternally lost…


it is the question

it is the answer


it is everything

in between and

all around







something else


damned to drift

and anchor the dawn

with fleeting dreams

of missed fate


paper ships

on the burning sea


yes, i loved you

but the reason i long for you now

is much simpler than that



were the first

after the last


and the last

before the next.


no service


far from the damning gods of youth

somewhere west of everything else


low slung in the burning valley

astride the gray horse of mourning


nesting in the deep cut groove of Booker T


ever grateful for the bare necessities

that allow this soul shine.


“I’ve opened every window

But the house, the house is dark

It ain’t pretty, it ain’t subtle

What happens to the heart.”

  • Leonard Cohen

the sunday times 11.4.18

vice and vessel


ashes readied

in the shape

of my heart


another burning down

is in the offing


sooner or later

the inevitable

always wins


we bond

we break

we burn


leaving only

circles of dust

and trails of smoke.


something of note


echoes turn cold

vacancy resides


the walls remain at odds

the light is somewhere else


time gets low

the heart follows suit


hope hangs around

for lack of a better place to go…


or maybe

it just knows something

i’ve yet to figure out.


day gives way


bending away

outstretched toward



pulled by a thought

like a thread unraveling


we fall apart

and put ourselves back together

on a daily basis


steal your pauses


seek the moments

to duck out and remain within


to breathe and be the beauty

you feel your life may lack


the power to take it back

is never not in your hands.


without me


it seemed like

the decision was made

long before i arrived


quick and impersonal

like acquaintances

rather than lovers


once the cats were caged

and your apartment was bare


it seemed my emptiness was final

and your life has just begun.


fall back


there in the breaking

the clearing withstood


where everything wanted

was nothing at all


killing hour after hour

hand in hand

arm in arm


for only a moment at a time


to save each other

from both euphoria

and oblivion.


“There are two great disappointments in life.

Not getting what you want, and getting it.”

  • George Bernard Shaw

the sunday times 10.28.18

down in love


still back

in some day beyond


the rain reminding the clouds

turning toward the storm

to ride its biting wind


conscious decisions

rendered irrefutably


drawn lines

staggered passed


in the meantime

there is no longer

and not yet


and a vague memory

of something that once



climb inside


perceptual agreements preside

amidst the ether roamed


untouched we remain

until dissolved


a dawning unfolds

a desire void of vessel


nothing we believe

can ever be true


without knowing

that which we never can.


strange fiction


from crawling

to consummation


hell remains within


from corner

to corner


head to broken heart


the mind is a movie

on an endless loop


and we can never quite figure out

where we came in.


still life in mourning


spun gray

from thread

of blue



of strands








the nights

flash vacancy


neon red upon

the pitchest black


like a soul scarred remnant

of a memory unremembered.


instance and reprieve


always another

rattling down the tracks


some lost hope leading

toward a faster nowhere


be it love

or last light


forever burns

the flags of perished



luck is a losing game

for fools and finer breeds alike


dark turns

await us all


better you learn this now


before it becomes far worse

than much too late.


“To live is to suffer,

to survive is to find some meaning

in the suffering.”

– Friedrich Nietzsche

the sunday times 10.21.18

this mourning


over the thrill

back to memory

and the mysteries



forward in reverse

somewhere stuck inside


drifting back

every now and again


to where we were

where we could be

and where we never will.


down to dust


only places

gone and returned


never the same river

always the turning points


nothing here can stay


lines of time removed

as all else remains

forever changing.




perturbed by ease


something off in

the way of the mind


and of the heart’s strange rule


bells and whistle’s delayed

as slow focus hones in


from the valley

thru the woods


over the hills

of not quite yet


maybe as it should be


and within this difference

lies the key.


waiting for the rain


heavy lids rest

upon the brow beating


down from never

came the promise



relentlessly demanding

the sum of our part


as the candles of longing

harden like arteries


blood blackened

with the blue oxygen

of dying breath


we are nothing more

than everything we’ve

never been.


out from under


light crawls the settled dust of forgetting

panning for any gold that remains


any good that can be returned

to the heart for future use


this must always be the priority

when the shit hits the fan


find the shine


after the denial

after the anger

after the bargaining

after the darkness

after the acceptance


for there is nothing so painful

that cannot be used as fuel

for a brighter fire.


“There is a loneliness in this world so great

that you can see it in the slow movement

of the hands of a clock.”

  • Charles Bukowski

the sunday times 10.14.18

something different


all ways gone

or so thought


but light finds the heart

in the strangest places


new angles askew


over the mind

and all its matters


steady the course of stillness


from points of turn unseen

to everything here.




holding anything too close

only secures its departure


last things last

good and gone for now


circles remain in motion

karmic and otherwise


until we can

catch our breath

and weep.




early in the mind


day broken

and all too bright


sunlight streaming in

thru the crack of her smile


just enough

to bring love

the hope

it deserves.


chance and fodder


well deep


this different time around


the nature of winter

torn asunder


even here

in the valley

of the sun


over the hill

seems too long

a journey


but be things as they may


it’s much farther along

than i ever thought

i’d be.


breaking chains


tracing back the longing

that leads to the fixation

on substitute obsessions


the urge actions

the cultivation of



nowhere outside this moment

is anything of need


love is here

in this freedom


and to keep its strength

we only need demand


nothing of others

but everything of



long shots in the dark


ending slow

in the off chance

of victory


last night of love gone


sadness never

a thing of the past




a ton


and the heart

need be the strongest weapon

in our arsenal.


“We are lonesome animals and we

spend all life trying to be less lonesome.”

  • John Steinbeck

the sunday times 10.7.18

wills and ways


out from under

the weight of

broken pieces


sides traced to

different ends


parted and persistent


our time

come and gone


strangers again

to return to

who we are.


static eternity


existence shatters the light


glass stained

with blood


scraping thru

torn of skin and shelter


down to the bones

of beauty and brokenness


where the heart

of the world

is forever



the map is not the territory


abstracted by the senses

subtracted from immediate equations


nothing can be true

within the confines

of existence


except the truth

of our presence

beyond it


and as long as our delusion

fills in the blanks


we can never directly access

the rational space of our reality.


set the heart for the controls of the sun


secrets sustain their echo


strange in places of light

familiar in the dark


line after line gone awry

for the tortured reward

of forgetting


staring skulls back

into the mirror


primed and luminous

in the fog of the grave


we can finally return

to the life that awaits.


ain’t that right


even off

balance sways


turn and tide

remain at odds


behind these eyes, at least


answers only seem

to uncover deeper inquiries


problems develop complications

all of my own making


so i’m quite creative in that regard, i guess…


but all jokes aside,


if you can’t laugh at the darkness

every now and again


you’ve already lost.


“Only to the extent that a person exposes

themselves over and over again to

annihilation and loss can that which is indestructible

be found within them.”

  • Jack Kornfield