Monthly Archives: January 2014

Your Watch Is Lying To You

Every abstract painting is a self portrait if you painted it or not

looking right side up is seeing backwards backwards

looking wrong side down our eyes showing us not how things are but how things could be

mirrors reflecting mirrors

looking up at the stars that are below us

we think we see

Earth between Venus and Mars

such nature is ours: stuck between the goddess of Love and the god of War

let’s fight to love more

cause nothing lasts forever especially nothing

and now is the new then

suffering from Anticipatory Nostalgia

missing tomorrow today.

Wherever There May Be

Mathematics can’t find the last number to pi

and science can’t calculate the depths of the heart

like a bottom feeder can’t describe the crevasses in the ocean’s floor

even when caught

so we’re left to guess

unless you speak fish

so what are we left with

are emotions as moody as oceans

still, I’m diving right in

unafraid of the undertow

cause I know

it will take me where I am meant to go

counting to infinity

I’m about half way there

wherever there may be.

When The Monster Makes His Creator

I wish I was as smart as I think I am

ignorance is bliss: that’s my motto

except when I think I know better

I wish I was smart enough to know what fools know

I want my tombstone to read: Wait Here, I’ll Be Right Back

I could care less about my apathy but I just don’t feel like it

of the seven deadly sins, sloth takes the least amount of effort

but it doesn’t take energy to compute data

but it takes energy to erase data

erasure is an important step in computation

karma is just like luck you can control

I smile at someone they smile back

“Love is a reciprocal torture”  said Prust

this is true in relationships and hockey

while science has made victims of us all

the new plague isn’t from rats but from factories that manufacture rat poison

while we romance technology

where Guitar Hero is played more than guitar

we’re the reverse of Frankenstein

now it’s the monster reanimating the man

I wonder if God made us in His image if He ever believed in magic.

Starting What We Finished

Running through the forest for the trees

till the death of the pulp and paper industries

what’s around the next tree is next to our next best guess

we’ll get there together

you and me

writer and reader

like lovers

out of breath

alone we can’t exist

together we’re written in infinity

even if in memory

connected we give

life to these words

even if one of us is on birth control



let’s run to the end of this poem

now that we’re here

now what

it’s time for you

to finish us


or for me to know

when to let you


Maps Written in Greek

Where are we when we get lost?

How I love to be found lost

alone, on a foreign street

I think even if I don’t know where I am

how can anyone else in this world?

Playing hide and seek with God and humanity

though I know I’ll be found eventually

those few seconds slinking between unknown city streets

giving me such a great sense of timelessness

that I can be anywhere in this universe

and I choose to be here

with no idea where here is

and I’m half a step ahead of all calls

and a half a step behind God

that maybe if I step on His heel

He’ll look back and miss me

and I’ll carry on

along the streets of wherever

without a care

of whatever hell or hangover wait for me

and even when checking with the Lonely Planet

and even when that Bible is written in Greek

it will read:

you are exactly where you need to be.

Roam in Rome

It’s only 6:50 but it feels like forever

when I know forever is still two hours away

still this side of dusk

neon lights highlight

secrets of the shadows

surrounding the Coliseum

shadows shine upon these walls

of a building kept alive by good genes

and tourism

thick with ghosts who were taught to live again

through the eyes of foreigners who pay a pretty penny

to see the legacy of a dead Empire

to see what they believe they want to see

even Catholics

believe even with the Vatican City so close

the pagans who built these walls

are worth visiting

seeing the ground where gladiators fought to the death

none taught to turn the other cheek

dying, praying to the same God who inspired the earth that built these bricks

two thousand years later their blood long dried

and how many of their souls have returned

to become taxi drivers taking their passengers to see where they last lost a fight to a lion

so many years


they got stiffed a tip.

You Can’t Buy Popcorn at Vaticanland

One man’s place of prayer

is another man’s Candyland

or Disneyland

and you can’t see between the Pope and Mickey Mouse

tonight stepping in to the Sistine Chapel

having never set foot nor forehead in to the Jordan river

and the cross I bear

is that I bear no cross at all

and with this loss of religion

I found the Vatican

rich, lush with marble

more gaudy than God

dead Popes entombed in brass

where no light can pass

I thought of my baby shoes

bronzed by my mother always to remember

how cute my baby feet used to be

spirituality ain’t no beauty contest

so why must this house of God

be so goddamned beautiful?

I felt so intimidated by its overwhelming artwork and pageantry

looking up at the ceiling spinning with angels in halos

God reaching out to man

looking up to the hands of God

painted by Michelangelo

I considered becoming Catholic

a thought I put in my back pocket

as I walked out of St. Peter’s Square

leaving the smallest country in the world

light from the Vatican at night

shaped my shadow

to dance down the streets of Rome

man made light

God made night

and what does this sight see?

The shine from the Vatican City

or the darkness between the stars

or any sign of any street lights in between

the hope of light


like light gets lost in its own sight

blinded like a deer in the headlights

it’s like staring at the sun

its light so obvious

it’s blinding.


To write tonight is a miracle

under the shadow of a volcano

that knows enough to keep sleeping

to be dreaming

than to wake to kill us all

on these streets of Napoli

there is no escape

from the nightmare of mighty Vesuvius

who could open her eye at any time

her mouth last swallowed two whole cities whole

two thousand years ago for man

a catnap for a mountain.

Now in 2014 to walk through the ruins of Pompeii

with its killer looming on the horizon

is the definition of optimism

is the hope of not today

saved from 79 A.D.

these people had no reference to the mortal power

of the mountain of fire that brooded over them

living in such lush land

where tangerines grow in January

so many sleeping when this volcano


throwing off covers

blankets of ashen fire.





with the dream that when the volcano awakes

it will not be