Thursday, September 25, 2014


Ammunition for the other side,
Might as well lay my arms down,
Not cutting it with my efforts
Running my teammates to the ground.

I've got this thing in my head
Makes me think 'm better than I am,
Delusions of mediocrity
Makes me wonder where I stand.

Fighting for the other team,
For all the help I provide,
Might as well go on my own,
Or quit and run and hide.

Atonia (Mature)

Mature Content

my world's shrinking down to two points
the point in my head and the point of the knife.
my head is stuck, caught in a loop,
the only way 'round is through the noose.

my body is trapped inside my head,
wound up tight and unable to breathe,
too much fat and not enough room
for me to run, for me to leave.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

The Man With The World In His Pockets

dressed in sheaths of hand-stitched suede,
always tooled up and ready to play.
"Bring me my ninetails with ropes a'braid,
daggers, dubhs, darts, and all kinds of blade!"
psychic enough to know tools to prey,
specific enough to choose sword over spade.

Day One
no hoe this time, just the spade,
garbed in special gloves of suede,
upon killer weeds he preyed.
time remains to let the children play
weaving grasses into braids,
unweighed by unnecessary blade.

Day Two
bound his hair in a tight braid,
today he discarded the spade,
grabbing, instead a specific blade,
the kukri wearing sheath of suede;
war games with it are played,
though he knows not what he preys.

Day Three
This time, it's on him is preyed:
someone sought to trim his braid.
This is a game he's long played,
though he brought just the spade
dressed in a tux of suede.
If only they had brought a different blade.

Day Four
The sgian dubh ain't just a blade,
serving snacks for the prayed
in cotton, leather, wool, or suede.
His has hilt of steel wound a'braid
(never confused with wood a'spade),
with which his fingers like to play

Day Five
A job with children, comes ready to play,
never wearing a sharpened blade.
No gardening due, brought no spade;
only pretend monsters on to prey,
so he brought with hilt of braid:
sword of foam and sheid of suede.

Psychic enough to know tools to prey,
what he'll need on any given day;
try to test him, he'll get that grade,
every prompt is left dismayed.

No Chocolate Candies (Mature)

you're more fucked up than I am,
so how could I want you back;
for midnight all-night chats,
nothing wrong, nothing broken, nothing black...

you've more ghosts than I,
but at least as haunted inside;
ghosts who keeping pulling us off track,
nothing matters, nothing's fine, nothing lies...

you're more welcome than I am,
bigger crowds cheering you on;
more commission made from your work,
and still you thanked me for that dawn...

for bringing you to that world,
for something I didn't do,
for em em, em em, em eff eff,
and where I fell you flew...

Monday, September 22, 2014

Better For Everyone

It's better that you forget me,
Leave the memories of me
To waste away eventually,
And forget I was ever there.

Take your memories, rewrite them,
Rescript your history blinded,
Forget my name and kindness,
And lose that I ever cared.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Whatever. Nevermind.

It's not that you should care,
I just wanted you to know
I won't be there when you fall,
When you rise, when you glow.

When I crash, when I burn,
Nothing else should fry;
So this time I'm really going.
This is it. Goodbye.

(Italics from "Not Your Fault" by AWOLnation)

Saturday, September 20, 2014


what's a break if you're watching the time,
when's vacation due to end,
what's a time out with a count down,
and life ticks on by again?

give me a path that never breaks,
no potholes, no peds, no stakes,
give me two wheels with no holes,
no flats, no packs, no cold.

give me this triangle of sticks,
string and sunshine too;
give me the rubber, steel, air,
and no deadline to be due.

Saturday, September 13, 2014

You're Running Out of Time

a word in the line,
a line in the code,
a code in the cypher,
a message, a mode;

a tale tempting fate,
a tale filled with desire,
a world filled with fences
encircled with wire;

a signal in the wire,
a signal in the air,
a signal filled with cyphers,
code in disrepair;

a disk filled with scratches,
a scratch filled with noise,
a secret hidden deep
from hackers and their toys;

a filter for the noise,
a secret for the cypher,
a mystery buried deep,
the walls getting higher;

a hole in the world,
not a hole in the land;
a hole for your mind,
always gets out of hand;

a promise from the prophet,
a rumor fed on lies,
a truth might be found
long in deep disguise;

a letter in a word,
a word in a line,
a line in a code...

Wednesday, September 10, 2014


legs that can't move but fingers that ache,
arms two-two shuffle when my body quakes,
toes that itch but can't reach to scratch,
stuck buried stuck sitting in this patch.

monitors and screens show me the world,
a bike in the background, wheels that curled,
spinning, the spinning held my life in check,
now too much effort to lift my neck.

when I need fresh batteries I call for help,
as schooled as fish, as docile as kelp;
everything's faded since I took that chance,
riding so that you couldn't but glance

wince when I hit that bump,
shout when I hit that jump,
scream when I took that dump,
cry when I couldn't get up;

wish when I hit that bump,
cheer when I hit that jump,
pray when I took that dump, 
break when I couldn't get up.

spinning, the spinning held my mind in check,
when once too busy to ever rubberneck,
now enthroned in wheelchair access,
all antiseptic and white plastic.

when I need a recharge, there's no other way
than lift my voice and call not okay;
covered in sweat tears blood tape excess...
all antiseptic and white plastic.

to feel the wind rushing past my head,
to feel like everyone's in my stead,
to feel the rain soaking me through and through,
to feel at peace, alone, with you,

to ride on this little red thing,
lights and metal and rubber and string,
breaking the boundaries once kept me in check...
now bound up in white and antiseptic.



keep on coming and I'll dance away,
keep pushing and I'll win the day,
keep wondering what I've got to prove
and I'll show you who will rue.

keep demanding that I pull the beat,
keep thinking that I'll move my feet,
keep wishing I'd stop asking why
you keep crawling when you know how to fly.


Maybe This Time

I can't perfect yesterday,
or predict what's due on the morrow,
I can't see where I haven't stepped,
but it feels all too borrowed.

so many overlapping footprints
crisscrossing o'er the sand;
wishing I could change them,
before the tides come to land.

sacrifices had to be made
for promises to be kept;
promises had to be broken;...
don't think I easily slept.

too many things can't be undone,
but there are some you CAN.
be better, be honest, be stronger,
be deserving of being called a man.

Moments Pass Quickly

in a moment, a flash,
realization strikes,
a burst of color from the brush
as I ride on my bike.

I apologize first and foremost
for disrupting nature's course,
a bird erupts beside me
and U-ies with some force.

I swerve my red-orange,
dodge the white and brown,
feel my heart race inside,
as it turns back round.

no second to spare it's gone,
and the moment fades away;
a hawk not a foot from me
as I rode to work yesterday.

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Dreaming Alone (Mature)

Mature Content

I wrap my arms around you
as you arch yourself upon me,
we slide together just right,
puzzle pieces set perfectly

Continue reading at DreamCruder

Monday, September 1, 2014

One More Reason To Bicycle

Careless cars whizzing past
Obscene gestures thrown my way
Honking horns, too close close shaves
All on a normal day

Pause a listen, hear a chirp,
Stray sounds from the road
Can't be bothered, can't be hear
By their motored gloats

But by bicycle, I can feel
The world in all its splendor
The spray of last night's skunks,
The cry of babes on the floor.

Stop my bike in the road,
Block the injured child
Extract necessary tools from my pack
Escort back to the wild

Cars are blindly incautious
My marbles strewn across the road;
What it is they cannot see:
Aiding a lost bird or toad.

I don't need to see a shrink
I won't visit the proctor
I can't bear to search for the elusive
Since I found in me the Doctor.

I'll ride where I need to go,
Traveling time the slow way round
On this thing of lights, metal, and string,
That flies without leaving the ground.