Archive for original

Waiting for Trouble

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on August 23, 2015 by unsensible

If I stay here, trouble will find me…


3 A.M. Makeup

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on August 22, 2015 by unsensible

In 3 A.M. makeup, sleep is a mercy
Before the final insult
Of abrupt, naked dawn

Keyhole peeker, private stars

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 18, 2015 by unsensible

I envy hacks, drunks, duds, and failures
Those with ardor and ambition
Hopeless dreamers and those who love the poisons in their lives

Too full on late-night caramel nicotine
I can’t stomach the morning
So, close my eyes to soothe the raw undersides of lids

I’m dreaming in Kodachrome, in my holiday PJs
Cracking pine needles, head under the tree
I’m squinting at pin lights, making private constellations

If fate calls my cell phone, i may just hit send

Pitch Dark (Forget it)

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 9, 2015 by unsensible

Don’t start after bedtime
Late nights are the worst
Sleep’s forming a patina in the vignette of your eyes

After 1:30 a.m. and everything is a tragedy
Dropping the milk is a tragedy
Anyone too awake, anyone waking up, anyone too asleep, anyone going to sleep
Is a tragic, angry farce

It’s a “I’ve got to say this now because my head will be too clear in the morning” evening
My head’s too foggy to say it now
That kind of evening

Heads of cigarette corpses line up like fallen soldiers in immolated heaps on the edge of your apocalyptic glass
You can hear someone screaming in the hallway
It’s you, maybe
Your mouth tastes like carpet

It’s too late to start anything
And everything you wanted to do in the condescending daylight
Is already undone
Digits flipping from obligation to regret
With the indifference of an old clock back when digital was for assholes

It’s already 2;30 and you missed your chance to dream
You won’t remember anyway
There’s nothing worth remembering
90% are stress dreams
Because dreams don’t matter

Say it, I dare you
Open your mouth
Start with “I…”
Then wave your head sheepishly in an ignominious bob
Because your smile looks like shit at 3 a.m.
Even a dog knows not to start a fight it can’t handle, most of the time
“Never mind.”

Light a cigarette.
Go to sleep
Looking for stars in the cobweb corners of your eggshell eyes

Spring party foul

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 8, 2015 by unsensible

Malingering spring arrived late,
diffidently fingering her flaxen hair,
surreptitiously smoothing last season’s amber dress,
the one she passed out in
before before her dreamless, overlong sleep


Argonaut, 20 years after

Posted in art, artist, creative, creative writer, creative writing, original, original poem, poetry with tags , , , , , , on March 17, 2015 by unsensible

Cut to: 20 years later
Our hero (the best we have)

More angry
More sorry
Frightened and cruel

Cataloging horrors by order of relevance
“I’ll give you something to cry about.”
He has more than a few to spare

New ghosts have gorged and grown fat on the old

The room is paid for

Posted in art, artist, artsy, creative, creative writer, creative writing, creativity, lonlieness, original, original poem, portrait, prose, short story with tags , , , , , , , , on March 7, 2015 by unsensible

In the brandy glass light of the beside lamp
Fluted like the hips of some ancient fertility goddess
She thumbs the satin elastic coral straps of her underpinnings
Over the rounded promontories of diminutive shoulders
Into the hollows of her collar bone
With a muffled snap that fills the plush, padded cell of Room 656.

On close examination, in the amber drip of the bureau mirror
Her body seems a half-formed thing
A slight, stripling sally, ribs and elbows sticking at opposing angles
Who fills a midnight dress like rolling choir crescendo
Of deep wine laughter, subversive mouth corner smiles, and music unplaceable

She tries to imagine what she’ll look like in ten years
But no image will come, no beginning and no ending
She tips an ash into an empty water glass next to a “No Smoking Please” plaque on the desk

The barest strip of lace borders an unremarkable breast
Barely a shadow at her sternum
She twists at the waist to examine the bruises
incriminating thumb marks at her hips and waist
To the small of her back and the nape of her neck

Whatever is out of place she’ll put right lock by lock
Auburn curls, burgundy lips, swelling lashes, and the hug of her midnight dress
All removed with frenzied, primal, violent discord
Returned in unremarked silence
Alone in a room that snuffs the life out of sound and time in a susurrus hush of dignified understatement
Alone in a room that’s paid for till 11 a.m.
Five minutes from the crack of a closing door
The solitude is stifling

The liquescent blue of her eyes streaked with ceremonial ash
Impossible to tell if she’s been crying
In the buzzing of her head she’s not sure
She averts her eyes as she finds the bathroom
She’ll look for her shoes
Before the walk to the train