Insomniacidal (Ft. GG).

A poem collaboration between me and Grumpy Gorman (he’s not grumpy—he just wants you to think that). We worked on it for awhile, writing, rewriting each other’s lines and adding to them as well. Hope you could enjoy our work. Also be sure to check out GG’s poetry, he’s an artist with words and it was an absolute honor working with him.

Three Raven.

God’s moon, leavetakingfrom the garden, the wildling from its fruitI’ve killed; like the moon without its stalkedwinters, I cannot behold reconciliationof two silhouettes; the phone-line I cutstill lures my name. in the echoes of the orange orchard,perfumed in late air, eyes known the moon;this stone willnot vanish, I could thoughinto disconnection, knowing thenof gods writhing [...]

in one key.

flower-envyingthe day of the seafor dance of tragedy in one key bleeds, the rootand laz crawls like a dandelion. shame, shame of the gardenborn naked; wastrel-limbscrawl rain,winter of pearl sinkingfeet poisoning againa bodybreaking their wispsand bones, come leaf, god forbid if I meant it,lies the stone where i lookthrough dooms of starsand fragility of love [...]

am i a tree?

am i a treebetween the earthfledembraced a dying thronefathered in my blood,stalked and eatenby the moon’s brigade,a kiss to the sun; a finger in the rainto la moon, i see I, and if the rosesaxethe tree,would I have dreamed of this,i woudn’t know © 2021 All Rights Reserved.

under any flower.

this is not a letter to myself quickly the moon is forever i say that sometimes these ghost fingers reach             to wind the strings and twist the whitecaps upon the bridge; i sit at midnight famous blue raincoat on my lips, a thunder squirms             into my body of stone voice nothing, where I [...]

Death is no sailor.

A voice of an ancestressfrom slightest memory, I,my ghosts on branches of April,like mice, we speak; between fingers of solace-drunkin the hills I found a voicebroken through my body, the sucking of black dressesin the wind, trees swoopingfour bones holding each other,we are holding hands, emerged a moon-maidenslack against my skull—trees mix in bloodshot starsbillowing [...]

still there.

This the sea, their shadows in madcap deaths; where is the garden beyond the moon, which leaves a ghost that I once knew as myself? I sway between finger and root; small hands desert me in memory free, I am not the skinof your lip, tree,and I am not looking now to be dead and [...]


Swaying in cool rootsof white, I feed the earthfrom my hands and bones;the moonglow on my skin rootsI am a tree of the debrisI eat the leaves in backdrops of the sun’sbuzz; rain does nothingto me. Between stem and finger,I desert you like a mosaic of bones. © 2020 All Rights Reserved. I was [...]


O she is a Sweeney dreamfrom dead ghosts into winter’s fast,beckoning duplicity Give me a danceto breathe in bloodline’s nursed moando not stare, darling Medusa, my distress,teeth slaught in seawater, howlingin waves as I dream and I billow from the earth. © 2020 All Rights Reserved. Written for the dVerse prompt: "Let us write [...]


Death’s weir from the mammoth faces we know, spuming dead ghosts into the sea. My mistress winter feasts her bones, to starve on the tongues of a storm; lips of Janus will part like Eve to the python’s words; o’ then in innocence who else if then would have a rib torn to kill Loneliness, [...]

castles of sands.

I knelt down of dreams, of seas for reaping digits against the tree-barkin absence of the moon’s tongueof Janus—sprawled out to thewails of shyness; father of bones,do not come back for me.yet I hide from my dead ghosts as they abandon me to the streamblood-relenting to the tides,idled upon the roots of a shyness bare, [...]

In mind.

and I’ve never known him this man of earth, of war and weedy cypress, lizards and their fluted skins married to the wind; phantom epistles from Vietnam

dance (with me).

all winter, their bodies of yokethe apple blossoms, like a child,waking into the sun; I see the siennarise in the kangkung flowersof your hair, the immobile, the henna; and archaic sandsin blue fibers of fields,as the moon-eyed dreamers,you and I—we’re in anamnesis of the womb,our cerise, skins to the lemon moonand velvet landscapes in the [...]

The ocean rises.

Fossil bone, a maiden’s cliff throwing ghosts in the stalactites there, my ocean is there, and I will die with the thorn in my side; abyssal shadows are empty, sandstone splits at my cheek, look at the full-bodied ocean, their fish bones below the memorial, from so close, I can stand upon the ocean’s bosom, [...]