Dispatches from the Suicide Hours of Immortality

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

TNB Interview


the sunday times 1.26.20

different pages


just outside the middle


beneath the waves

of resentment rejoicing


all along

the wires bristle


terms conditioned

by the first and the last


somewhere lost in the wild stare

that sees right thru me


branded by this burning heart

and the endurance of its longing.


it’s never about what it’s about


fools we are

burning in wisdom


pulling back from where we are

to dwell upon where we’re going or

obsess over where we’ve been


running to and from the darkness

thinking the light will follow


everything wrong with everything else

it’s nobody’s fault yet everything seems ruined


once and back

again and gone


high hopes and shit luck


still this something needing to be found

to hold and be held again


with clear mind and right intention


searching for something lost to the years of oblivion

something that aches to be felt again


now that i’ve finally learned

how to feel.


deep break


open division


seasons pretending

here is away


slaked heart

still bone dry


spaces occupied

by only emptiness


rarely is always

never seldom


every word a world

shifting along the timeline


unlocking dimensions

of infinite otherness


every thought a candle

somewhere burning forever.




rung true

to the ear


just a word,

touch, or sigh


a soft simplicity


no jargon

to be deciphered



in the mess

of the fray


all that is asked

within a breath


is but

an invitation

to disappear.


“In this short span of life

there is fire and passion

and beauty and love.

Everything else is a

fucking lie.”

  • Jonny Ox

silence and retreat

untitled #49


touching the tender ground

of unwantedness


too long carried

this imagined burden


taking up valuable space

in the heart


now free to go.


the cloud in the rose, the rose in the cloud


in everything there is one


separation is illusory


these words mean nothing

beyond their meaning


symbols and smoke signals

nothing more than remains


echoes of reality



unremembered memories

of all that never was


as the night stares back

into this aging soul


and lights dance

down distant roads


far beyond the windows

of my perception


the immediacy of continuity

upholds its apparent appearance


perpetuating the dividing belief

that anyone is in control.


quality of presence


from this nothing

everything can be


steeped in the hollow

of the undefined


every moment

a clean slate


with each dawn

a spreading

of infinite light.


apprehending reality


forth brought

remains follow



as memories lift

from the body


catching breath

from first to last


the cyclic wandering of the soul

out beyond the land of the dead


to come to rest

once realized


the light

at the end

of the tunnel

is your own.


true north


i am a broken compass clock

falling thru the cracks in the heart



anywhere but



finding clarity in the clouds

upon the mountain forged

in silence and retreat


far from the eyes

the hands the voices

the footsteps


drained of color

needing the sky the trees

the cat the bluebird


to serve only the word

summoned to the page


i seek only

a reasonable kindness and comfort

offered and afforded without hidden agenda


i sleep like a dog

and fuck like a…

like a…   i can’t remember…

it’s been awhile


but suffice to say

i am a patchwork

of experience and delusion

with a bit of dementia and neurosis

thrown in for good measure


and my only wish

is that everyone, everything

just be ok


that somehow it all

just evens out in the end


with no hard feelings


and if it doesn’t

well, at least i tried


which is a whole lot more

than i used to be able to say


so i guess

that’s something.


forty-nine plus one


other side now


room dark

with the leaving




by the blue light

of the heart


in hope

and in promise


that upon this road ahead

lies love.


“Knowing you might not make it…

in that knowledge courage is born.”

  • William S. Burroughs

the sunday times 1.19.20

fledglings of the abyss


just enough of not enough

to even things out


rain on pavement

coals in the heart


the constant weather of the soul


treading light

anchors tossed


solace and storm


all parts washed ashore

pieced back together


awaiting the tides

to arise with a reason

to set sail once again.




for sakes of goodness

and other saving graces


one must keep in touch

with the quivering heart


suffering is avoidable

pain is not


each on their own

can only become what is


be not lost

in dim harbors of concern


for with every piercing arrow

there comes a choice


to fight it

or to feel it






slaughterhouse jive


down in the muscle

seeds of trauma reside


staining random intervals

with the stamped unapproval

of memory


twisted in the winding sheets

of a guttural ballet


as spotlights shine black

into the gaping maw of god.




done with games

and the soulless search


for something better

somewhere else


faceless faces

falling away


nothing to see

but everything seen


surfacing from dark reflection

to finally break thru the mirror


and find out

exactly who it is

staring back.


blue velvet morning


nothing stranger than the heart


sacred in its silent way


the mind of the soul

the soul of the mind


a lighthouse

in the abyss

of existence


ever guiding us

to the break of a

brighter day…


we hope.


“The only thing that makes life possible is

permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not

knowing what comes next.”

  • Ursula K. Le Guin




the sunday times 1.12.20

down in the break


sameness resides

in the newest cracks revealed


phantom scars

of expectation


well walked roads

of hopes dashed and

trust fallen


as the tooth grows longer,

the heart sinks deeper


and the years

continue to pass.


shadows of abandon


falling visions

from once where

we stood


unearthed abundance

in the unease of gathering


the spaces between the light

rest in the peripheral


center stage of the psyche


comprehension is elsewhere

no need in the vertigo of operation


breath returns

as crowds disperse


small talk silenced


the dust of existence

expelled from the bellows


making way

for the solitude

so desired.




lines fused


networks of pattern and routine

embedded codes engaged into action


all this easily broken

by one step away


one link removed


continuously strengthened

by repetition


lighting new lamps

along the way


if only to see

how far we’ve come.


am i only


fade into flicker


love is a ghost

falling away


longer in the wait

as expectation looms


fear is a liar

but hope is sometimes

a thief


while certain things fall into place

other things run out of time


for as ruthlessly as the rules of chance abide

we are often drawn to believe otherwise


simply because it seems to be

the only thing left we can never

know for sure.


“In your head is the answer

Let it guide you along

Let your heart be the anchor

And the beat of your song.”

  • Neil Peart




the sunday times 1.5.20

points of distance


tandem released

flights unfancied


no want for waste

or factions warred


simple words

simple actions

simple truth


void of smoke and mirrors


and anything else

that tends to keep

us apart.


the lost art of getting lost


too much to hold

too much to let go


the manifested physicality of gadgetry

dares the mind to be left to its own device


back to thought and fire

the basics of existence


exponentially diluted


more and more everything

becomes less than nothing


with no place left to go

but everywhere gone.


dead grateful


for the blood loss

of the broken heart


for the grief

of the mourning soul


for this life

that lights the way forward


for the death of innocence

and the exile from imaginary gardens


for the gold beneath the stone

for the dying stars coursing thru our veins


for this life that lights the way


for the turning of screws

and the biting of bullets


for the rites and wrongs of passage

for the highest and lowest roads


for this life that lights


for abandonment and reunion

for the edges of swords

for the respite of dream


for this life


for the evils of eden

and the glory of impending doom


for winter’s last summer

and humanity’s final fall


all in all in all


all of us one





upon departure


forward to return


meeting old souls anew

lifetimes in tandem across the miles


bond and blood


above the depths of sky

beneath the heights of the sea


linked in place

from distance to descent


back thru the womb of time

from the youth that has now become

who we are.


upon return


middle to the side

marching down the center


making peace

with occurrence

and predicament


beyond the above

to a home inside the mind


as the ascent begins.


“To be a human being among

people and to remain one forever,

no matter in what circumstances,

not to grow despondent and not to lose heart,

that’s what life is all about, that’s it’s task.”

  • Fyodor Dostoyevsky

the sunday times 12.22.19

right time


it’s ok

to be lost

wherever you are


realign the stars

dismantle your compass

disable your alarms


be at ease

with the nothingness

of everything


and start again from there

every chance you get.


instinct and collision


down the pressing

caught in the vague undertow

of missed queues


playback stutters and fails

as the mind peeks thru keyholes


framing circumstance

with either fate or falter


in order to fit inside

the tiny boxes of memory

we impose upon our thoughts


whether or dreaming life is our waking life

or our waking life our death


there are no lines to be drawn


there is nothing

and there is everything


and there is no answer

we don’t already know.


remain nowhere


safely numberless

adrift in the ether of solace


deep in the light of darkness

shooting sparks from solitude


pondering perches

both lonesome and beloved


both sides of either coin

seem to shine for different reasons


yet still i fret and fray

over the empty spaces


that continue to echo

thru the chambers of the heart.


first, last, always


falling in


locked steps

of primitive motive


boxed and pinned

until the break of opening


until the crack of sky


nothing can forever be


things needs change


but truth

will always



whether we

believe it

or not.


in closing


light accumulation



in the finished end

and the start of the beginning


again around

and once more anew


a chance to take what comes

and leave what goes


and figure out what,

if anything, needs



“A story has no beginning or end;

arbitrarily one chooses that moment of

experience from which to look back or

from which to look ahead.”

  • Graham Greene



The Sunday Times will return 1/5/2019

Wishing you all a peaceful holiday season and

a new year filled with love and light.




the sunday times 12.15.19

late start


no cause for alarm

sleep overtook the sunrise


but still

the morning



always as it is


swathed in time

fog abating


the minutes gained in slumber

now settled into the comfort of this nest


fingers coaxing words

from the ether


to finally get things going.


in fields of broken infinity


blown glass mind

spinning in the kiln


neither heads nor tails made

most of the time


but ends beginning to meet


staked in the somewhat delusion

of an inner peace


never the goal to reach


just to simply stay the course

and remain upon the path


until our time is done.


insanity and epiphany


the buzz of circuits completed

between the many moons

of horizons within


unveiled in the blue light

of hungry ghosts freed

from the haunting chains

of memory


as the clang and folly of regret

echo thru this empty cage


and while we can still remember the past

it is no longer painful to do so.


the best worst yet


down comes the world

following thru the fallout


another day

another depth


somewhat darker

but somehow better


a glimmer of hope

thru the black flames

of despair


one step closer to cracking the code

of the seemingly unfathomable equation


when all we need to know

is that it never gets solved


it only gets

more bearable.


if not this


consider these words impossible


a broken piece of time

reaching up thru the flower


the plans unmade

by a poverty of the soul


the gathering nothingness

that surrounds everything


forget the lies you never told


and begin the life

that was never meant to be.


“Existence is a series of footnotes

to a vast, obscure, unfinished masterpiece.”

  • Vladimir Nabokov

the sunday times 12.8.19

drop by drop


day breaks slow

beneath the rising light


zeroed out

to scratch and slate


graced with another chance

and no other choice


but to try again.


here where the night becomes us


settled not knowing

wandering and taken back


as states of mind rumble passed

like subway trains thru tunnels and darkness


thru breaks, bends and brighter days…


far off in the mind

unwired and free


still this hope burns

from the embers of joy

once remembered

beautifully alight


no ash

no cinder

no smoke


just glorious fire


miles and miles

of scarless wonder


swaying in darkness bright

with the harmony of our abyss.


all the rain


come to fire

upon the skin

of jealous bones


nothing but shadows and ghosts

in this living dream of a nightmare


yet all is well

in bigger pictures

and grander schemes


still the mind tends to zero in

on less common denominators


but with clutches

repeatedly released


with deep breath after deep breath


with spaciousness cultivated


the blurred edges of boundlessness

seem to come into focus


and while some circles

will forever remain broken


to goal is not closure

but finding acceptance and peace

within our somewhat cracked existence


so we can finally let go

and move on.


before the past


futile advance

evidence be damned


the looking glass looks away

and nothing is remembered


poetry is reality

under extreme duress


the heart is a searchlight

in the abyss of the human condition


we are all instruments

of each other’s peace


so play life

like the symphony

it is meant to be.


“No one to follow

And nothing to teach

Except that the goal

Falls short of the reach.”

  • Leonard Cohen

the sunday times 12.1.19

all go where they go


time to time

inside the mind


calm to chaos

emotions set in motion


deep in the ache of longing

yet fueled by a joyous fire


balancing breakdowns

with better days


everything has its place


and it is always



new darkness


jagged in recurrence

the natural forces within


none too immune

but better now harnessed


shining black sheen

as bright as beauty

and just as soothing


an act of balance

and acceptance


continuously challenged


by this seemingly unbalanced

and unaccepting world.


a little more


cut paths from thin air

reaction chains slowly breaking


provoking persistence

from depths of despair


it all comes around

until it no longer remains


transmissions received

upon impermanent waves


grains of thought slipping thru the ether

poking holes in our personal theories


perspective betrayed

by a few steps removed


feel from the inside

the bones on muscle


the muscle on skin

the skin on air


the light is within all of us

and all of us the light.


the echo of bone


canyons deep

like the hollows

of the heart


centuries of symphony

in seconds of storm


every truth revealed

on an infinite loop


and nobody listening

but the darkness.


“Why should it be so hard to give up

seeking something you know you can’t possess?”

  • Lew Welch