Hidden Place

hide me, most vulnerable self
so no one can see, including you
my tinyest of cocksure that tries to mend into you

remarkable it says
tells me how I should be
because I’m invisible to the everyday taunts.

A Friend I Wanted to Know

Even as I post a shitty poem, you were still there to support me. I wondered why you cared so much, but I realized it was your love of words that made you so apt to the nonsensical. I miss you Paul. I miss your fantabulous way of expressing the mundane, making it seem electric and so vivid. I miss your counsel, and your rebelliousness. Paul, you left too soon because there is so much to still learn from you.

TSTAR’s Car Song

Car Song, the hit single off of my band’s EP was used for an ad promo.  Check it out:

I wish my friend Paul Squires was here to share in my celebration.  Miss you Paul!

The Nurse

I turn my head slowly over my shoulder, just so I can catch her doing something else: unbuttoning her white clean uniform, maybe.  Because she is kind of hot, or maybe I’ve spent so much time in here that anyone becomes hot.  And she is there, sitting in white clean clothes, in this fluorescent white padded room with no windows.  In freshly pressed clothes, with clear stockings on, and clean white shoes, she has a clipboard that she keeps a record.  Jotting down every time I look back from my corner.  Where I’m sitting, I’m dressed in red and black plaid and dark blue jeans.  Barefoot, I tap to an unknown beat as the room only gathers her, just her scribbles.  Buying time, I’m sitting at a desk with stab wounds for graffiti, typing to a ghost.

Inside my Terrane

You couldn’t possibly know how much you mean to me
you couldn’t possibly know, even as I try to tell you
limited by the expression of a syntax, I’m left with a lisp
trying to pronounce joy.  I’m only a jester with failing hands
a useless mime, forever maimed by the unforgiving allusion 
the imagination of life without you.

This Condition

Back to nought, an empty barrel for a frame
an additive identity for a familar existence
drifting aimlessly in the maddening sea
on a shore that waves lonely a dance back and forth
with a disparaging sequestration, a stumbling knot of nobody
if only zero plus something equaled an upheaval  from the
nothing not, a step from annihilation, a small remedy for the forlorn past.


It’s terrible being alone when what you want, the one you want, doesn’t want you.
It’s terrible being alone when all you’re stuck on is the last time you saw her dance
dreamy, she makes you laugh when nothing does anymore, and your shoulders are relaxed. 
It’s terrible being alone when you have to wait in line for the one thing that makes you forget.
It’s terrible being alone as you write about your ghost, as hope with its glory pines away.


I’m not quite sure of how I ended up at the latter end of the stick
maybe it’s in my genes to seek out pain, because what I reach for is far beyond my fingertips.
Isn’t that what it’s all about: living beyond the mean existence: towards infinity?
Isn’t it there, in those preposterous parallel lines reaching for something better than this point of survival
isn’t it there that we meet? Doesn’t settling for the first thing that is within your touch a mute of your mind?