Finding a Photograph

I saw a picture today
Me in black and white
A boy three or four

Everything still potential
That slowly bled away
Over the years of my lifetime

Like the slime from a slug
Shimmering and wasted
In the light of life

Slowly drying
Leaving just a trace
Of dreams I can’t even recall

Kick in the fucking gut


I am dismembered
Torn and tossed
Bits of me spread everywhere
My warm heart pulled from my chest

Even it isn’t whole
Here and there
Bloody bits are flung about
As far as the eye can see

Some still twitching
Hurting and hoping
To be cleaned and reunited
And stitched up in my empty chest

That dark hole
Idle and aching
A yawning cavity to be filled
With hope and affection

I pull myself together
Hunting and gathering
Stooping to scoop up the mess I’ve made
And reassemble it into something new

Nick My Skin

Small slights and little lies
Nick …. my …. skin
Doesn’t hurt when it happens
Only when I notice them
Then they start to weep or bleed

If I get enough of them
I’ll be cut to ribbons
My bones showing through
Sorry and exposed and sad
A fool and his pain on display

I wish could rewrap myself
In the tatters of my hide
And hide from the world
The truth of the lies
That touch and taunt
And hurt and haunt

Excess Observed

Sometimes he’s fine
Until he blasts himself
With marijuana, meds and booze

Then he’s a slate wiped clean
Refilled with gibberish
Slit-eyed and oblivious in shrouded spaces

Falling, bleeding, pissing
In a cloud impenetrable by sense or pain or shame
But not because he doesn’t care . . .

Groping – not for words –
But for speech itself – think-tongued and dumb
Failing to make his point

Lurching from scene to scene
Unseeing and insensible until the next day
When he appears – charming; if only briefly

Three recent poems

Wednesday, 8:00AM

I feel about to be obliterated
By the heavy hell inside my heart

Clenching and convulsing,
I need to drain away the burning dose of anxiety

And fill it again with my best spirits
So I can share them full and free

Storm on Sunday

Lighting strikes near
Big drops fall in a frenzy
Ice-as big as the tip of your pinky-clatters down
Then it passes, leaving just a wispy mist

Beautiful Day

it’s a beautiful day in Boston today
The Charles is so blue
the Esplanade so green
the sky so clear

Twiku, twoetry, twoems?

Last week I think I started writing little poems on Twitter. I haven’t been sure what to call them. I was talking to my friend and colleague Tim Marklein and he suggested Twiku. I kind of like it. I don’t want to be constrained by the conventions of haiku but it sure sounds like an awesome term.

Here are the few I’ve done so far:

Fall into bed like a stone into water/Sink swiftly, settle softly/Coated like a rock with the dust of the day/Wait for the cleanse of sleep


Beauty is not/In the eye of the beholder/Beauty is in/The soul of the beheld


Sun through glass/Lulls my head heavy/I would sleep if I could/If I could I would/Dream someplace sunny/With pillows/But no glass


a late night/an early morning/a long train ride. sleep.

I’m sure there’s plenty of short poetry on Twitter already but a little more never hurts.

Twitter poems

I’ve been thinking about poetry on twitter for a while. The character limit is an interesting challenge. I posted my first twitter poem tonight:

Fall into bed like a stone into water
Sink swiftly, settle softly
Coated like a rock with the dust of the day
Wait for the cleanse of sleep

I like it and have a few others I am working on. I will have to post them as I can.