The Two Knights

On the merlons of the lookout tower
Yesterday’s strangers
A body of two
Rigged in their metal garb
And a sword for me and a sword for you.
There was no rain
Just wind
Sweet calm wind that whistles in your ear
Like an old friend’s husky voice
Eyes locked in a supreme
Hazel on double
Limbs moving like the
Flickering fingers of a master pianist
Cinema stop motion
I wish I were a nephologist
That I may look to the sky
For every one of my
Days and every one of my


Poolside Conversation

Did you see the moon fall asleep?

Great lunar eyes closed tight

The bald mountain peak about to leap

Lightless night envelopes everything

Black sheets together bind

As we have our poolside conversation

Soul to soul, mind to mind

No words from our mouths.

Is that blue?

Only one man in the dark

Is that true?

I’m talking to the me in the pool.

Twelve Forty Six a.m

Where am I when I’m not here?

Another place


It is day

How do I know?

There is a weary senile oak


There is an ill-colored sun

Grizzled and tired, older than

The day says it should be

And it spatters rays

Like a leaking water hose

Sprinkles here and there

Of crusted faded light

The moon of the night

Is brighter than this

But the sun

The ancient one

Labors on

Carrying his load

Tattered boots on the crusted road

His back arched low

Yet he shines

He shines and shines and shines

And the grey brown-green tree

Smiles and smiles and smiles.

Better Out Than In

My skull is a prison.

I have clipped the wings of the only thing that sings,

I cannot bear the sight

Of the feathered white

Stuck in the confines of my cramped mind.

He rasps and scratches at the silver lock,

Rejoin his birdly flock.


There is a magic in words.

The leftovers of your magnificent meal,

A burning fire only you can feel

Deep inside your itching guts

As your eyes take them

And etch them on your heart.


And through you, you feel a flow,

A hundred voices, a brilliant glow,

The greatest drum starts to grow

Within the walls of your empty chest

As your brain awakens from its year-long rest.


Find me the key

Water for the poem-tree

Set the blue-bird free

Fly up, fly up and be.

I Looked Around and I Wrote This

I find myself sinking in quicksand,

Gripping and clutching with my last free hand.

Could this be my final stand?

Here in this barren land

Oh, oh my death would be so, so grand.


They threw me into a dark well,

Chained me up, a dog in a cell,

Pushed me down to bloody hell,

In the damp where I now dwell

But I knew, even as I fell

I strived, I struggled, I fought well.


My hands and my heart are always at war.

There is nothing on this Earth I will ever kneel before

No man, No bear, No boar,

Whatever creature stands on this floor

There is always a crack, a window, a DOOR.


Raw humanity

Deep inside of me

The last few threads of sanity

Keep a hold of me,


My very own ropes coiled tight in this mind

Can barely bind

Can barely close my eyes, blind

Can barely leave me crippled behind.


With every last ounce of might

I fight

With every last ounce of might

I ignite

With every last ounce of might

I am alight

With every last ounce of might

I finish this poem. I write. I write. I write.

What I Am

Am I just,

A vessel,

A cup of fresh air

A hole of flesh and blood

A cavern in some forgotten mountain

A step in a step in a step

A rung on the ladder of time

An empty beer bottle

A scaly snake’s shed skin

A vacant hotel room

A fireplace in August

A hidden drawer in an old oak desk

A plastic funerary boat

A rusted halo on an angel’s head

A poor man’s wallet

A brown envelope never once posted

A shoe box with only one shoe

A missing person’s bodiless casket

An unfilled cargo plane

A hollow tree on the edge of the loneliest wood




I am just

A human.

Ice-Cold Steel

Thin ice-cold steel.

Sometimes I need a different kind of meal.

I’m seeing double

Double the grey is grey,

The ancient pathway

Like a pond in mid-winter frozen.



My windows are so so dusty.

I am an evergreen

But my leaves are brown this time of year,

There are whispers on my lips

So soft, so low that I cannot hear

A lump in my throat though there is

Perhaps there are tears when I sleep

Ask my pillow because I wouldn’t know.


Thunder snaps inside my skull,

Waved away by them

These arms once wound around,

I am a child’s pet

Gifted on Christmas

But now it is February

And the vertigo has yet to wear off,

In my ice-cold steel cage.


Like a snail on a windy day,

Stick to the ground

Move move move

Against the winds of today,

For grass goes with the breeze

But the breeze goes with the trees.


The polar bear roams alone,

White white white as cold steel ice,

The primal predator stalks the mice

Watch your back

These other bears are barely friends.


So I sit here,

See this cold steel ice

I look into his face

Soft warmth in his creases

The greatest friend, brother, lover

In the mirror I see me.