While Inhale

I am unwell. Fingers feverishly unfurl strands of my beard only to reunite moments later–a nightly ritual. Somewhere in stillness secretes a heaviness that feels hand-crafted, artisanal. The agony of happiness is no longer my burden. Inhale. Forced reminders from peers that I too was once of love– Inhale. Fuck. This is beyond me. Identify…


Have you ever pressed your forehead
against a window pane
and felt the coolness of another dimension
trickle across your skin?

The sensation–
coupled with our ardent stares
at the outside world–
is beguiling.


I have gone everywhere and nowhere
since the last time I saw you.
Voyaging frequently,
I carry everything that I need in a suitcase.
But, unpacking is tedious 
when the place is so familiar.
Though, I dare not leave anything 
I neatly unfold the contents of my case 
Coupling a polo with chinos,
t-shirt with jeans– 
a ritual of garments and expressions.

It’s amazing how we condense ourselves
when required.
Carefully selecting the essentials and 
abandoning the unnecessary with reckless precision.
So here I am once again
unfurling my things across the duvet.
Reorganizing what I deem valuable
and tidying my world inside a box.

I have gone everywhere and nowhere
packing and unpacking and packing. 
Yet, all that I seem to carry
is everything that I left behind.  


I say I can’t dance,
but that’s a lie.
Everyday, I tap and slink around
the ugliness that I barely conceal.

and limbering and vaulting around
because I can’t bear to remain idle
and sit with my truth.

Shuffle! Spin! Slide! Repeat!
I am Astaire in his prime
staring at my reflection
waiting for the applause I so desperately need.

Tell me I’m smart. Great.
Tell me I’m perfect. Excellent.
Tell me that you need me. Divine.
Tell me…again. And again. And again.

For the rhythm of your accolades
has become my obsession
that blots out the memory of what I am.
Shuffle! Spin! Slide! Repeat!


My angel in Damascus
was malt liquor and a colt 45.
You see?
You can’t save me.
I paid for these sins.
And will sing no songs of redemption.


I traced her steps,
as if to erase the recollection
before it set in my brain.
She paused to locate her keys,
at the fleeting innocence in my pupils.
We entered;
to a potpourri of weed and black and milds
as my conscience violently convulsed in my jeans.
I exhaled;
and summoned my demons
as I fished a condom out of my pocket.

Please Smile

A million glances and one
Can’t see what is there to be seen.
So, if this is what we are meant to be
please smile, my love.
Smile for me.
One. More. Time.

Awkward Words

To me,
Words are obtuse and awkward things.
Arranged and dressed for every occasion, but never as useful as the natural sense.
And that is life – in a way.
Exhilarating, momentary, tangible
and described by millions of obtuse and awkward things.

Keeper of the Night

I am
by the ominous
scent of nightfall.
am I
amused by its secrets.


For I have torn the hearts of women
and made murals to their chagrin.
So why should I expect glory for my handiwork
when I have earned these distrustful glances.
For those that once grieved of me, rejoice.
For I now drown in your hot, tepid tears.

For Jordan

“The officer, Roy Oliver, has not been criminally charged. A police representative for him could not be reached. Jordan, along with his two brothers and two friends, were in the car when it was fired upon last Saturday. Jordan died from a fatal gunshot wound to the head, the Dallas County Medical Examiner’s Office said….