Polish villagers
In rags and robes
Hanging off the side
Of an American tank

Holding sticks and spuds


Je Suis Pistol

je suis pistol.jpg

Charging out from haze
Holding questions close
La Vie en Rose

Yet confident
And brimming with
Rosy white fire’s tint
Always willing to bloom

A pistol my protection
A life in rose reflection
Nuit de reve banners
Flowing above me

Muzzle flash
A fleur de lis
Cautious places
My wander sees

Lost in a titan’s realm
Intelligent design, a well
Spring of Fibonacci
Sequence labyrinths

Life in pinks and fractals
Following the trails
Mesmerizing glass so
Bright and fragile

Charging through the vegas
Below my banner Vega
I am pistol
La Vie en Rose

Advanced Research

A muffled dirge
Possessive sound
Stalking like it’s

An overwhelming
Compelling hellfire
Felling in
Starved echoes

A frantic pulse
Panicked, enhavocked
And beating with
Friction so hot

Impact injected
Directly in shots
Gears grind and
Servos shift

It is it’s own
In an unstoppable

Stokes the heat

Dirging like demons
Infecting the neurons
And depth diving into
Dreadful thoughts

A gross song that
Mind alters
To the white noise
Of red tunnel vision



On the roofs of houses
In a suburb
A mossy overgrown
Sentimental pipeline

Crossing from
Home to home
Shoots with the
Arrow of time

Christmas lights
And tiny fir trees
Fortresses, bastions,
And snowy top days

Moss is the turret
On a tower of a home
Ropes like rigging are
Beacons polychrome

Cast magic like
You read it
In ancient
Spell tomes

Snowflakes drifting down
Polychroma sound

Lights like the beacons
Of spotlights shining
Clouds like the puffy flak
Of a cold morning

Moss on the shingles of
A cozy little house
Glittery tinseling
Glowing like magma

Chilly air like egg nog
In a glass on a table
Broiled breath in the air
Vapor everywhere

Redshifted Telecom Pleiades


Redshifted Telecom Pleiades

Idle air nibbles with
Cold teeth at the warmth
Coming off of
Bodies wandering streets

Frosted telecom jungles
Canopy the intersections
And the skyline above
Shines through the wires

Red blinking alpine lightning
Rods warn aircraft of low
Altitude treetop masts as
Towerkilling Pleiades can

Orient the avians
To high-strung cables
Tangled wires like branches
Just above the sidewalks

Yet much further up
Stand these reaching masts
With blinking red tower
Lights at their tips like

Parallaxed redshifted Pleiades

In an endless sea of stars
Of grey
And black
And tower concrete



Autumn to me
Is when snow and leaves
Both crunch
Beneath my feet
In August bloom

When sixty one degrees
Is blistering
And makes me need
To shed my three jackets

It’s a kind of scent
Of place
That candle shops
And scent chemists
Can’t dream to
Really replicate

You’d have to be there
To get it

And when you’re not there
You’ll miss it

Its influence seeps into
The hardwood floor
You wake up on at 1am
Before you decide
To take a shot of vodka
And wander the streets

And you’ll lock eyes
With others in the
Vulerable guise

It’s the taste of a
Freshly toasted
Frozen waffle
With no syrup on it

It looks like
Zodiac light
Set in a firey haze
Like an eye of coal
With an
Abyssal gaze

It’s a pumpkin spice latte
In a pale girl’s hand

Sweater weather so cold
That glass blood vessels
In your fingers
Start to seize

It’s the rows of harvest
A mark of its growth
Obscuring the soil
It’s all planted on

Venturing in between the
Stalks, stalking
A way out; an exit



Walking around
In the early morning
Petrichor in the lungs

To any
High way

Over railroads
And rail roads
Where fortresses
Grid tall towns

Warm hands
On yokes and reins
Vicious peacocks
Edged driftwood

Can’t stop
Won’t stop
Ferns on moss
On trees

Puzzle bark
Razor wire
Shrub forts

Spear thrower
Cliff face
River things

Where runoff
Runs off
And races
Cliff faces