Just recorded a poem for Easter that I wrote a couple years ago. He is risen!


Comparison is the thief of joy, unless
you have the upper hand. And why shouldn’t you?
So go ahead, move to the other side
if you think you deserve it. And of course you do.
Think you deserve it, that is.

A knife can be a tool or a weapon, or neither.
But if it’s neither, then who
has the upper hand? Picture this: a climber
uses both and there’s no comparison
that is necessary. Both are tools.

One man’s tool is another man’s weapon. One
man’s weapon is the other’s ignorance.
You keep beating your breast until they’re sorry
enough to apologize but it’s a show
and you’re the punch line just before the laugh track.

They’re laughing but it’s not a joke to anyone
involved. One person’s laughter is another’s process
of grieving. What can be said
about comparison here? About as much
as can be said about what hasn’t happened yet.

There’s always guessing, true, but who would risk
another’s feelings on a hunch? Too many. The thief
stalks the shadow alone, following it home
and sucking the life out of every dream
until only the nightmare is left.

A dream can be a tool or a weapon, or both.
But if it’s both, then what
does that say about the sleeper? Picture this:
rising in an icy sweat. The nightmare.
No further details are necessary.

Just because something isn’t necessary
doesn’t make it less interesting. Or more. Picture,
one last time, this: rising in an icy sweat.
Does it matter if the nightmare is a dragon expelling fire
or something unidentifiable? It sure as hell does.

Nothing much to say here other than I’m a man in love. I hope the joy comes through in the words when you listen. Artwork by Lindsey. ❤

An Opening

So it’s blasphemy, writing love
to those deemed impure. Damned impure.
At least that’s what I was told
when I was so little so long ago.
Before the opening of the books printed
on paper from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
Before my own taste of the proverbial apple.
I learned to consider other things
and that was my undoing, for what I didn’t know was
ignorance was the only safeguard
against a one-way ticket to that ultimate condemnation,
that lack of consciousness is the only way
they get to keep control.

Here’s my latest recording. It’s called Crush. Hope you’ll listen, like, and share. Love you all. Peace. ❤

Love Makes Us

This innocence is not naive,
nor is it blind to bad deeds done;
it’s simply choosing to believe
that in the end love makes us one.


Tension of the lustful kind, in control
and crushing, becoming
someone I don’t recognize in the glass
of the shower door, steaming.

Even under that pressure
there’s still the realization below that
it’s wrong, that it’s heresy
if I claim ignorance when I know better.

Purity is a ring on the finger of morality;
as the years wear on
its grip on the skin gets tighter
and eventually is pawned,

something of value traded in
for a paltry amount of funds in order
to extend pleasure
for another caress of the clock’s hands.

Look at me, all tension
demanding attention. Shouting from
a mole’s hill, mustard seed,
the mountain not budging an inch.