With lightning speed
ripping through infinity
I hear your clacking hooves
Your cursed truth
charging ivory horn
chasing your prophecy
Your heaving mist
attacks the air
Your feral mane
tremors in grace
I see your red demon eyes
ignite for the horizon
Black Unicorn.

This was inspired by David Bowie’s ‘Tis a Pity She Was a Whore from his latest album Blackstar. Rest in power Mr. Bowie.


Yes Mommy Dearest

One of my pet-peeves is seeing people standing around doing nothing.

Then spin

a wheel of string
rope to play hangman with
buy time making
cardboard sleeves

just in case

drench a spineless shirt wet
without purpose
groove a grave in.

Hot coffee burns
lukewarm finger tips
nervously preparing
another lie–

There’s always something to be


Go Here!!

Swab slabs for red tape feelers
appearing in the dark
early morning’s stock rooms

after-hour cheap cockroaches
re-stock stocked shelves
a different kind of vermin
catches clockwise
the wheel churning
dynamic stale Splenda

an apron in slow motion
a smorgasbord of the top ten
most talented
next showcase:

Insecure Specials
events in Crayola:

Italian Panini
amused eyeballs
Cuban Sub
Cajun Chicken
clapping to attention

Big smiles at the door
clean floor needing a good scrub.

Cotton Candy

Catch me when
I’m not an awkward butterfly
lighting almost on the exhausted hibiscus
a weary comfort for a glimpse
an imprint on the fading sun

Catch me when
I’m not a bitter blue caged parrot
calling out for jack daniels like my owner
not owning a thing but a feathery bird

Catch me when my cliche is filled
jelly rolled happy joy, sunshine sprinkles
too consumed with sugary goodness of opposites.

Do parallels meet in the infinite demise of one?
Do we call them an equilibrium?
a  jelly roll, then a shot of jack?

How I Became a Sucker

No one spoke to me in the dark
as I blindly walked alone
feeling for the comfort of fine

where all the anti-depressants
presses an invention of self
that everyone doubts

a fake smile slowly appeases
your eternal want of being pleased
when the magnitude of instability
reigns in my joker doubt


not flowers with their imagined hearts
not tending to exploding boobs on a brutish hand
not fabricating in my favorite telenovela
all made-up like an ironic trophy wife
does nothing but make me
miss all the sex…

I want you in the morning
while you’re all dirty
before you claim your discovery
covering your stems, trampling your pieces
filling them with the sum of this sickle tree.

I want you in the morning
while you’re all dirty
so I can feel by some miracle
I can feel like I can touch you

before we’re both filled with this fruitless mirage
this purposeful pursuit for the world’s perfection
where everything seen is judged whole.

Rejection Letter #1

I received it in the mail today
my very thin self-addressed envelope
not today I said out loud, not today
for you see, I’ve already felt the day to day
crippling blow, as I made my trek through
the drudges, through the thick mundane
automatic motions.  I have failed as a robot.
Regardless, I thought and grinned for chance
there’s still the possibility…  Aah yes the optimist
with her tireless audacity, with her juvenile beliefs
full of maybes, could be dreams floating like clouds 
waiting to be caught, oblivious to the message in the
note starkly staring back: thank you, but no thanks.