come now and gather round children
and i will tell you the tale
of a wind that is bound to blow in
and the way that the wind will wail

see i too once was a baby
rocking away in the bough
when a breeze came along and it shoved me
down down down

and i fell from the arms of my mother
i fell from the limbs of the tree
and this wind that keeps on blowing
will never let me be

when i sleep it scratches my window
and it wakes me from my dreams
this wind never gets it answers
at least that’s how it seems

this wind is a storm in the making
and it follows me like death
and i’m worried that this poem
will be my final breath

and i’m worried for you dear children
that’s why i sing this story
of the wind that never softens
of its evil endlessly glory

it will follow you
it will follow you
it will follow you to the graveyard

it will follow you
it will follow you
it will lead you to the end

it will follow you
it will follow you
like a song lost in your skull now

and the thing about
this wind called death
is he is your most loyal friend



and in the middle of the night
the boy sneaks back into his poet soul
out of nowhere
he climbs into the rib cage of his heart
pulls up the skin of his arms like sleeves
and finds his electric fingers bouncing on the keys

sometimes the brain packs up its shit
lifts its trousers and two little suitcases
and hops on a plane to nonsenseville, nowhere
sometimes it’s meditation
sometimes yer running from a life yer afraid of
throwing on kicks and pushing off the ground
into the dark forest
push through to spectre
where some blonde girl throws yer sneakers up on the line
sometimes some times some times
blah blah blah

here we are
you and me. a fireplace. a bottle of whiskey.
a really fucking big bottle of whiskey haha.
you and me.
(it’s inescapable really the way i think about
but dear reader it’s you too!
it’s you i love too!
you’ve been so patient with my anxious stupid.
you’re always there for me.

i am sorry if i’ve been an absent father of a poet.
life isn’t always linear.
in a world where we are multiple people
there’s a lot of group therapy to be had.

my path has never been that of a paintbrush –
i’ve got bills to pay
debts from past lives
(kind of makes me sound like a drug dealer)
but the truth is
i’m more of a free spirit
with its ghostly tail attached to a dollhouse.

but i’m here to visit.
here to say hello.
to shake the hand to kiss the baby
to go around the wedding saying nice things
to dance with the bride
to love the way the love manual tells me to love

but then
in the middle of the night
i pull my heart up from under the floorboards
throw it in my tin man chest
and i splatter my red all over the walls
i graffiti the city and i flood the streets
and the townspeople will awake
to find christmasday in july
to find the sonic echos of my soul
and a dead poet in the street
then buried in the ground
then mixing with the worms and the roots

that is how they will find me
and you and him and her and the mailman


i am unafraid to say to you.

let each day work towards my freedom
let each moment in love be unabashedly sincere
let each porch swing swing high into the night
fly off its ropes and ascend graceful into the heavens

let there be flashfloods of hope
lightning storms of abundance
angels dancing like hipsters in the flat
of some famous dead poet

let us kiss like we just discovered this. lips
let us bust through the ropes that contain
our cocaine hearts
let us be ready to face our new love

let the birds free from the chapel
traveling through time to a holy grave
soldiers falling for the future
as one ascends into existence in this white light symphony
this giant sandbox of death and orgasm

let die the dying dog
pour water on the campfire and get some sleep
take moments to just be
tear them off the paper on the bulletin board
call the number listed

let lay my head beneath you
i do not fear how tall you are
i am unafraid to say to you
i am unafraid to say to you
i am unafraid to say to you
how deep your rivers run through my limbs

let down the moon from drunk denver
let our steps be chaotic, unplanned and together
let lay we against the timeless brick walls
let lay we lost in the cosmos above oz

let we move
not forward not backward
not any way in particular
let we dance yes dance
dance veronically for the world
let we dance for the stoplights
for the lost generations
let we breathe this gospel in
let we scatterbrain talk
let we automatic touch
let we semi-automatic breathe
let we swallow these great sighs like buildings falling

these tied up wildflowers
i am unafraid to say to you
i am unafraid to say to you
i am unafraid to say to you the end.


08.2015 – Daily Poetry Project


Hey guys,

Happy August. It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve written poetry and I’m looking to get back on the horse so I’m going to be doing a project called “08.2015”. I did one back in February of 2013 appropriately titled “02.2013” and it was very encouraging. It holds me accountable to post a poem everyday and it challenges me to think outside of the box. One day during the 02.2013 project I was feeling super uninspired and the fact I was forced to write something resulted in one of my favorite poems, called “EMPTY HEAD“. I hope you guys will join me through this journey, whether it be reading each day or stopping by now and then to make sure I’m being true to my word! The poems tend to become slightly cohesive as they are so back-to-back. I love this, and look forward to it. Thanks for reading.


If you’d like to read the 02.2013 poems from the beginning you can click here.


she walks slowly to her hanging
flowers in her hair, eyes toward the sky
she counts her steps in silence
the sky answers gray
the world has moved on somewhere else
but here the noose swings
she steps up the stairs one by one
she places the noose around her neck
like a pearl necklace
like his arms wrapped around her
and she falls
into the swaying decay of finality
the bloodflow like a hurricane
feel it all now all at once
and then an eternity of nothing



To Maxwell Tilse, never too much.

and this is what you do when writer’s block you type and you type and then you keep blood flowing you suture your wounds you tighten your stitches you arm wrestle the hands of the clock you push through and you create the mounds and mounds of bullshit but maybe you’ll fertilize a small dandelion and that small dandelion will catch in the wind and those little fluffy parachuters will create new dandelions and spread and spread like jelly on bread and you push through and you’ll feel that black shadow of a ghost hovering over you but you can’t pay him no mind you don’t have time and it’s laundry day and what the fuck else are you gonna do it’s laundry day when you leave colorado and you’re in the middle of nowhere wyoming on the way to san francisco you get super excited for the gas stations for the windmills for the human decency to leave some land uncivilized no matter where you are there’s life to be experienced you don’t need drugs you don’t need a passport you just need to know that there are planets and stars that orbit inside you constantly and on these planets and stars are elephants holding flowers with their trunks and on these flowers are lives screaming for you to speak for them we must be louder we must always be louder in hopes of getting some silence but if the silence never comes we will at least have this lullaby to lull us to sleep and in this sleep we will dream of a world of silence where love is unspoken because it is everything and we’ll wake up and there we are there is that world and there’s a lot of hate to see through but i beg of you see through to see your own love and if you feel blocked like you don’t know how to speak just start talking and there may be nothing or maybe just maybe lost in the haze you’ll find a lighthouse light to guide you through the dark night of the soul and into the yellow morning with ya ginsbergian stanzas of gibberish and your uber apparent moonlight motherfucker.



i hit the bottle and punched the forest
and then bam it came pouring out
like niagara fucking falls
verse after verse of subjective majesty
it came pouring out
tears to my ears
it just ran rampant across the page
like a street dog through suburbia
and i loved it
a snowstorm in a warm winter
a drastic makeover to my soul
i call her elvira
you can call her whatever you want
it’s just a god damn soul
the point is
pouring out
like niagara falls
crazy kerouacian
bordeline ginsbergian
not to compare
just the same amount of i don’t care
it came pouring out
smoke and whiskey
lies new religion
like pure ecstasy
like something to stick on your tongue and treasure
and will it happen again?
when the yellow morning finds me
will i be radiant red
or blue blue blue
in the face face face?



i’m sick and tired of wearing this monkey suit
of being in the middle of a beautiful dream
and having to apologize to my fellow actors
that i have to go now i’ve got somewhere else to be
i’m sick of being half-hearted in two different places
i want to smash each half together
and wage thunderstorms with the hazardous clack
i want to stock the armory of my heart
i want to sleep in the arms of strangers
i want to swing into the chaotic arms of america
into the world reaching away from gravity
i want to live unhinged and twist predisposition
drown destiny in a bath of hydrofluoric acid
i want to cast flaming thoughts in the caverns
of the collective consciousness
make a solid bid at eternity
while living in the current unmerciful moment
i want to scream in an empty auditorium
(i mean
that just kind of sounds fun at the moment)

it’s time
the time is now
my time is now
the wheel is in motion
a witch drew me the chariot
there is something in my bones unbroken in
that will paralyze me if i don’t break it in
so i have decided that i am going to break it in
i am
so fucking sick
and tired
of this monkey suit



there’s this woman behind the wheel of a car driving down the road in the middle of nowhere. it’s pitch black. middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. she comes to a red light and she comes to a steady halt and waits at the light. a minute goes by, the light is still red. she still waits. several minutes go by and she still waits. hours, days go by, but no, she thinks to herself, she must not run this light. it would be wrong to run this light. chances are if she runs the light no one would be hurt, she knows this, but if we disregard the laws that have been established to protect us, what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom? nothing, she says to her self. birds hover above her. the sun rises and sets again. insects jump onto her windshield and off. the world changes around her, but she remains the same, unflinching to her convictions and the convictions she has been taught. babies are born, the elderly pass away. new technologies come into existence. couples fuck in their warm beds. people bitch about the weather, but refuse to talk sex, politics and religion, but this woman is not concerned about any of that as she waits desperately, starving to death on the inside, for this light in the middle of nowhere to turn green.




I was napping under the freeway in the bone city of Los Angeleez, when a man walked by and he stopped and he asked me “Who are you?” “Who am I?” I said. “Who are you?” “Who are we?” and next thing I knew we were in his flat uptown, drunk on red wine, listening to Charlie Parker through the radio. Charlie was manic panic writhing up and down his saxophone beneath the electronic fuzz. The man who took me in paced around his apartment aimlessly. He was a strange man – his books scattered across his cigarette floor. I asked him what he did for a living and he pretended not to hear me, I’m pretty sure.

The wine hit us hard and we laughed at the Bodhisattva residing in our hearts. We laughed at fleeting enlightenment and we bonded over cold Chicago. I passed out on the dirty floor, but in my haze, I heard his girl come home and ask who I am and they riffed for a minute, her asking if I was another junkie and he said “No, well, I don’t think so,” but they calmed down and I faded to black again.

When I woke up, I was alone in the apartment. A note had been placed on my chest “Don’t worry about locking up. No one would rob this shithole anyways,” and that was that. I gathered myself and caught the next train out of the city of angels.