Sunday, July 12, 2015


The silkworm is not golden,
no winks snap the tremors
no carbines on the roast,
no moraine in the slam.
Then a buckeye
from an insane ATM-
falls over me.

And when I look across the
dark lantern,
nothing is not there
except for the mellow heathen pumping
blubber into my heaven.
I find the swollen stars
sleeping in underwear
deep in sleepless death.

Another poem for your enjoyment.... just wrote it tonight. Would love to know what you think about this poem. What does it mean to you? Let me know, let's start a conversation.

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