Poems

SwelterSkin remembers.Hands still think they know her.Outline on the wall. Hips that swiveled, slow and indecent,the way they cracked the evening open. Bedsheets twisted,soaked and thrown across the floor.Every inch of dark I own is filled with her —the phantom pressof breast and belly, nothing lessthan total submission to the hungerburning through me, ruthless. The […]

THE METABOLIC DEBTThe radiator clicks like a hammer on a rail.Evolutionary triggers fail.I’ve gripped that ledger with white-knuckled handswhile the logical veneer cracks and brands.Not spiritual. Not some “good man” act.Just biology surrendering to fact.Malice has weight—structural lead,filling cavities where soft tissue lies. The cost of release. The price of peace.Internal pressure finally ceases.Fuck morality.

Surface World We live in a world that runs on the surfaceWhere the skin and the bone serves a daily purposeOf sorting the beautiful from the rest of the stockAnd distributing the chances around the blockUnevenly with more going to the fine-featuredSurface world and its beautiful creatures Surface world surface world all about the faceSurface

Swallow the World WholeSwallow the world whole.Teeth marks on everything I’ve touched.Bit down too hard, bit down too much. Swallow the world whole.Jaw unhitched like a snake in the weeds.Nothing fits but everything feeds. I ate the evening and I ate the dark.I ate the silence in the parking lot, the sparkof somebody’s headlights pulling

Stranger in the House I still see your coffee cup beside the sink each morning time,I still feel the habit of reaching past the white dividing line,Ten years of waking up beside the same familiar breathing weight,And now the quiet in this house has taken on a different rate. It isn’t death that did this,

Still Still here, the mostly functional, the face-washed and car-started,the man who found the keys and got the morning properly departed —not thriving, not ascending any arc that warrants the announcement,just still here, the continued, the attendance and the pronouncement. Some days still is the whole achievement, the stripped and unembellishedrecord of a person who

Sticky Commuter August underground where the rats have more room than we dopressed against strangers in this rolling coffin of aluminum and sweather shoulder blade grinds into my ribs like punishment for existingthe air tastes like burnt rubber and someone’s morning regretmetal screeches against metal while we pretend we’re not animalscrammed in this cylinder hurtling

Static And Mirrors – Part 2 Burn The Feed We tuned in for the weather—now it’s all apocalypse and flame,With anchors smirking over corpses, calling blood by softer names.Feed me fear in pretty packages, splice a riot into reels,Turn my neighbor to a monster with a thousand subtle feels.The news is just a weapon now,

Static And Mirrors – Part 3 Kill The Signal Don’t talk to me about dialogue—this ain’t a fucking TED Talk stage,This is rage gone viral, teeth-first, clawing through the digital cage.Truth ain’t just dead—it’s gutted, strung up like a warning sign,And we dance beneath its corpse like it’s divine fucking design.Every app’s a loaded weapon,

Split Red, Split Blue They don’t talk, they loadand fire | every headline’s just a lit fuse wire | truth got carved into party shapes |and facts don’t matter once hate escapes | the dinner table’s full of knives | not plates,not food, just sharpened sides | grandma’s blocked, the kids got tagged |and no