poem, poems, poetry, writing

I call her thief because she took it.

Like an earthquake broke up the dirt

Beneath my toes and shook it.

I took it but I am not a thief, just a wanderer

With nothing to lose and no time for grief.

Cigarettes holding onto my breath

Cigarettes counting down the seconds in this brief life.

Choking the last sense of relief and dripping

The ink from my pen’s soul.

Slouching over ancient keyboards as the sky turns to black coal.

You stole what you stole

And I hold onto words that were foretold.

Come to me through the rabbit hole

And we will together tumble into infinity.

I spotted a soul star tonight,

Might have been part of the big dipper,

Or a piece of Orion’s belt buckle.

We all buckle over words on the page

Is it about peace or the tussle?

Late night practice just part of the hustle.

Found a partner in crime, unsuspecting and emanating

Star light,

Moon light,

Day light

We all fall through these cracks

Called hour lapse.

Come to me and tell me

Which way is North.

Been directionless my whole life.

Not devoid of strife

Devoid of a full night.

We all play games of humble mobility

Take my hand and

Wander through tranquility.


Generating the Push and Pull

poem, poems, poetry, writing

Little Italy

Starbucks coffee sits before me.

The nucleus of this cell

Is the Northwest corner

Of College and Euclid.

One table standing vacant

Within an adolescent sea.

Their Feet stuck in Uggs.

Eyes double scooped behind Gabbana and Dolce.


My Starbucks cup says:

“Careful, the beverage you

Are about to enjoy

Is extremely hot.

This cup is also made

With 10% postconsumer

Recycled fiber”.


90% shredded and refined Mother Nature.

10% shredded and bleached casualties

From previous generations of consumers.

How many generations does my Starbucks cup contain?

I could count them in ring stains.

Or how long it takes to disintegrate

Through seasons of heavy rain.


Fast approaches an old man

Stepping toward the frosted-

Salt bitten door.

He smiles at no one and nothing-

Funny. He invades personal space.

He asks for a light and a coin.

Smiling mouth stained with nicotine.

Teeth missing or obscene.

His upturned almond shaped palm has

Lines running like the pacific railway.


His lips read:

I hold faith for

The human population.

Generation always fears generation.

Politics breeds regicide.

Alcohol breeds patricide.

Advertising breeds genocide.

Some blessed and cursed with hindsight.

Some jealous and intrigued in curiosity.

Have you seen the youth today?


“Have you seen the youth today?”


Wonderment replaced by Apple apps.

Everything that dazzles

The adult trickles downstream

Along with the sullage.


Selling self-esteem in

Bar limes and LuLu Lemons.

Pants covering less ass

Than if it were painted black.

She thumbs her cleavage

And gives you her back.


“My generation is a dying breed.”


Kane and Able to recall days

Of a social media free society.

Forever forward in a soft glowing

IPhone and Kindle ecstasy.

My Facebook I.D.

Is addressed to York University.


My dentist informed me:

Your silver fillings contain mercury.

As though when I was fifteen

He was not associated with dentistry.


“Help me.”


I can Google something faster

Than the time it takes to answer.