Shell shocked

I don’t know what day it is

I’m turned inside out



A donut in a madhouse

With hungry clowns

But there are no more pieces of me to take

I’m a magic trick now

Hiding behind distorted mirrors

I have taken so much

There is nothing left to take

The donut was gone a long time ago

They’re all fighting over the illusion of Me

Of themselves

A sugary sweet treat in some fantasy world

But I’ve stepped outside

Into the harsh world of Reality

Not too many people here

But definitely no clowns

Black Sophia



I fall now

In Wretched Grace

I land upon your lap

I took not my old Naivety

Nor wide-eyed Innocence

Nor Cloying Positivity

Nor hope of Recompense

I did not bring Salvation here

Nor dare to make Requests

I wore only reverent fear

For you command Respect

You have bested me, My Black Sophia

Fool I was, in retrospect

From this day on

I honor You

No, I will not forget

There is No Place that is Like You

No words to capture Your Kind of Truth

No Art

No Muse

No Thing

Like You

And I will not



The Architect

million pieces

When you found me I was broken

Didn’t know it like I Know It now

Reclaiming all the fallen pieces

Shattered all about

The nicest vase the house did hold

In fractured shards made of gold

Takes So Much More than so much

You know?


How does one rebuild with hands

Scattered all about

Fingers here and there, it seems

random knuckle on the ground

Maybe one must start with nothing

To change it all around

Maybe one must start with nothing

To make herself anew

Those broken hands were never mine

So My Nothing shall draw me two

I hated that old vase anyway

And the gold?

They call it Fool’s


The Visitor



At night

He comes

Obese, gray-black

Anger so repressed He is shaking

Below, like Earth’s been doing lately


His eyes blank, mouth soft

Head knows nothing of his rage


Trauma can split a person in two like that

So he sits


Thinks he’s empty


A car in a junkyard

Abandoned, forsaken

Crushed flat, fat

Like an overgrown gourd

Bulging, tumorous

At night

He comes

He speaks to me

An untrusting “hello”


It is my voice I hear

Obese and gray-black



Black Poetry


Black Poetry beats in me like a painful yellow fog

Murky, pungent, sucking life

This is garbage, you think

(Or maybe that’s me)

For Poetry is the thing Dickenson speaks of!

Hope singing, and the like

I bring a different kind of Word

Self-indulgent, maybe

But not if you really knew…


Some of you do

Some of you do

We are the artists, yes the long-suffering Clichés,

Whose works, year-after-year-after-millennium,

Somehow still rings True

Life strikes down her yellow-gold-silver-blue

Splitting us all open, cracked as we already are

Shattering and shattering

You can almost here Zeus laughing in the skies while

Children are dying down here in spades

While so-called Gurus spew

Unrelatable but somehow edible

Spiritual vomit

People sinking knee-deep in it

Eyes wild, wide

Heads nodding, bobbing like Robotrons

Mouths lapping up regurgitated chunks


Starving to ingest the One-Sided

Disguised as Salvation

Hands dripping with acid stench

Shoveling, scooping

Inhaling someone else’s excrement

Proclaiming it delicious

Denial is a Siren

A sweet Goddess of affliction

Who is so annihilating-ly believable

We all think we’ve got gold in our palms

Ever-fooling ourselves

So I take on the role of The Outcast

I must

This painful yellow fog beats out of me

(Go ahead and find it disgusting)

Not because I wish to be different

(Though, fuck you, I’m different)

But because mainly

I must be a Counter

To all the golden puke we cling to

Pretending that it is Soul

You and I



We’re not so different

You and I…

All these goals and dreams

We’re not so different

You and I

Some days our Sirens scream

The struggling, the striving

The overactive mind



Depression and the like

Begrudgingly we take a pill

Or emphatically refuse

Some days our hearts eat up the hate

But other days

They lose

We’re not so different

You and I

This fabric of our fears

Woven with a matching cloth

With wounded matching tears

We all insist so fervently

What’s wrong with This or That

Throwing stones at those who wear

Our own ever-changing hats

I, for one, I must admit

I am a humble hypocrite

But hope one day to try that hat

Say, it no longer fits

You cannot make me like you

Nor I make you like me

But God knows we try like children do

Force incessantly

Wonder who first had the thought

We all must be The Same

Wonder why we’re still playing

That stale, soul-crushing game

Inevitably the boomerang returns herself to Truth

And then our Pointing Fingers

Only make us Fools

Hero meets the Villain now

They make a brotherhood

The mirror sheds a brand new light

The way a mirror should

So let me gaze into your eyes

You’ll gaze into mine

Not so different after all

So different

You and I