Kindness Harvest

Vacant Orbs

just a prisoner

in this body of flesh

hearing the comings and goings

of others

busy tidying…

having had enough.


just sitting


into nothing

A desert of empathy

not a cloud of kindness.

My last recollections

of humanity



bleached bones

make people remember…

a kind word

lets it rain

a thoughtful action

grows a harvest.


Cyclone Swans

Cyclone Swans

fly through the crumbling canyon

like F-16s

Honking, to the weary traveler

beneath them

He looks up

at the wrong moment


and the stink is subtle

Cultures consider it good luck

and the traveler prays for it

on his weary walk

invisible years

stretch before him

and now he knows his nature

if he writes more

he can have a better life.

I confess…

I confess

that there are many moments

I should enjoy

but mostly

I just want to get back to myself

Like when my girlfriend sent me a text message asking…

“Why haven’t you invited me over? It’s been such a long time.”

She left me this voicemail that was full of anger and disappointment

like I was supposed to read her mind

I even invited her for a run

two days before

but she didn’t want to go and said…

“I guess you don’t want to do anything but run.”

“Oh no, that’s not true. You can come over.”

I was locked in

locked in to play the ‘good guy’

I don’t know if I’ve examined my feelings


when it comes to relationships

but they never add up

there is no point in trying

All I know is

when the days are beautiful

I don’t want a woman to come over to my dim apartment

with the sink clogged full of rotting Chinese food

I want to walk under blue skies, budding trees, air so fresh and warm, it feels like I can swim in it

So, I had 60 minutes to clean

and the place was pristine when she knocked

She just stood there


and I said

“Come on in.”

It was her reconnaissance mission

She wanted to see if I was still worth dating

“I’ve got some steak and asparagus I can cook,” I said.

“Alright.” Her innocent, cherubic face was looking at my library

“You have a lot of old books. Some of them are unusual.”

I knew she was trying to see into my personality

“A Desire to Kill: The Unabomber?” She asked.

It was beautiful outside and I was cooking two steaks, hoping the fire alarms wouldn’t go off.

“These stories are filthy,” she said.

“Oh, that’s Bukowski. A total genius. Wisdom comes from the strangest places.”

“You shouldn’t be reading this stuff,” she said.

I boiled the asparagus. It was getting limp, dissolving, and breaking apart.

Whenever I cook for myself, my food turns out. Maybe it’s because I don’t care.

She kept looking at me with new eyes. She was seeing me differently, already. I was one of those guys she thought she knew and now she was trying to figure me out, again.

“Can I use your restroom?” She asked.

“Sure,” I said.

She walked inside and I could hear her milling about. I had to get some groceries from my car. When I came back in, she looked tense. “You don’t have a hand towel in your bathroom.”

“Oh, I just use this one.” I tossed it to her and her opinion of me sank, again.

“Do you want to watch the movie now?” She asked. It was the Scarlet Pimpernel. Not a bad choice, but the hero acted like a woman to fool his pursuers. It was good for ten minutes and then I got bored.

I touched her leg and her eyes got really big. I was going to kiss her and I did. It tasted sweet and then it was over. We finished the movie.

“Well… that’s the end of that,” I said. “Time for you to go home.”

“Already?” She asked.

“Oh yes, I have lots of work to do,” I lied.

She gave me a bear hug and left. And I felt the most wonderful relief. Freedom. I walked outside, under the leaves and bathed in the sun. I got on my bicycle and rode East, into the cold wilderness of my own reality.

She asked me out on a few dates after that, but in time she dropped me like a rock, and I fell to the bottom of the river with all the other rocks, right where I belong. The sound is different down here. Peaceful. Murky. And a place nobody visits. Sometimes the fish swim by and I stay still, very still, listening to the symphony of sounds, and feeling the shifting sands of time.

The Measure of Men

These Moments Matter

when we put our money down

and gamble

for things that can’t be seen

It is the explorer

who dares to go one more mile

when his crew threatens mutiny

or the barbarian

who faces arrogant empires

reliant on their technology

The warrior’s mind

is his weapon

changing to strength

in his weakness

It can’t be quantified

though, many have tried

His spirit moves from somewhere

speaking poetry

to a delusional ego

willing to fight incredible odds

without seeing the numbers


sets men apart

How far will they go?

the edge must be explored

and boldness becomes their genius

unless they fall

So, trust in yourself

but also recognize…

Success is the Measure of Men.

Where the Day Cannot Go

If you can move one mile faster

climb one mountain taller

stay honest

and become your dream


No whirlpool can hold you

Undercurrents change

Moving you out to sea

Violent winds must be held

with misunderstood sails

Know your truth

and act on it

belief is the remedy for change

float in circles

if you need to

and stay alive

until breaking waves take you to paradise island



and strange music

Mystic landscapes

where the air is thin

and the sand vanishes

Stand for a moment

where the day cannot go

and then descend to normalcy

This life is an expression of your intelligence.

Scrambled Eggs and Tea Leaves

Eggs in the morning

blue skies after months of rain

3 friends want to talk

after I haven’t talked to anyone

in weeks

this is how it goes


the moments in between

when I feel like myself

I know it’s not victories that do it

but the victories help

So often, it’s…

“What do you have?”

“What do I have?”

“I guess I’m doing all right.”

People get talked about

like they’re far off

but nobody gets immortalized

it doesn’t matter

I’m always looking for something that doesn’t make sense

Most people look at what doesn’t add up, “as crazy”

“She’s not playing with a full deck.”

if they get closer

they might find,

she always wins.

Maybe there isn’t an undercurrent of intrigue

but I like to think so

people aren’t what they seem

places are more than solid wood

An old man with crocodile toes smokes on his boat

drinking wine

and typing

Is he mad

if he talks to himself

and nobody else listens

He is an amphibian

a creature that rests in the sun

He lives in a way

nobody else can

and he does it so well

misery is foreign to him

although, many see him as half-a-step away from someplace

they never want to be

and they will never know him

or his way of being.

There is beauty in a black night

There is beauty in a black night

to feel alone and not be lonely

to love what is hidden

and not need to find it


and imagination

working on reality

in the dark

red lights

green lights

lights with different meaning


under electric messages

telephone wires

speaking love

selling nonsense

shouting hate

or whispering prayers

above the sound of my feet.

Then I stand still

And the night is really beautiful

Every sound has stopped.

The Old Mail Carrier

Charles catalogued his packages and letters. The job was only supposed to last over the holidays, but somehow the post office convinced him to keep working.

“Holy Hell,” He said. “Zone 9? I’ll be delivering to drunks, pimps, and fools. Talk about a test of my endurance.” He took a swallow of whiskey from his hip flask. Breaking the rules and not getting caught might be the meaning of life.

He drove up the narrow street and a kid rode towards him on a bicycle. “He wants to play chicken, does he?” Charles gunned the engine. “Real lessons are learned the hard way.” The kid jumped out a-the-way between two cars and landed on the hood.

“How’s my driving?” Charles cackled. There were noon ladies standing outside their houses waiting for his mail. He felt his package and grunted, but he still preferred the German Shepherds that bit him in the ass.

“Mail man, you’re late. You got any mail for me?”

“Lady, just give me a second. I’ve got like a thousand packages to deliver in the next couple hours. Wait… nope, I don’t have one for you.”

“I know it’s in there; give me my mail.” She reached for his bag.

“Lady, if you steal the mail, it’s a federal offense.”

“My sister always mails me every Thursday. It’s overdue!” She reached for his bag.

“Get away from the government’s mail!”

“Or what? What-a-ya gonna do?”

“I’ll do this…” Charles took three drinks from his whiskey flask.”

“You drunken fool. Get out a here.”

Charles took his cue and left the street, he left the neighborhood; he left the city, the state. He ran out of gas.

The occasional car saw the old mail carrier walking alongside the road.

“They deliver packages this far out, in the desert?” A boy asked his dad.

“Apparently so, son. Whether rain, or sleet, or snow, the mail is delivered where it needs to go.”

Charles walked into the sunset. He died happy; away from city lights, and the people beneath them.


Light-Years Away

Twisted Wires


Black Bridges

Trying to make sense of it all

Sunrise Surprises

and Sunset Deaths

For the Ages

In our memory

we need to be remembered

There is uncomfortable knowing

without any answers

as we go through traffic


radio noise

There is life inside

confusing energy

waiting to get out

I grab my golf clubs

or push my bicycle

beyond limits

In the routine

I resist the impulse

to scream

Until I can’t anymore

What happened to dreams?

They’re so far away


In my mind’s eye

it was only yesterday

but today…

they are light years away.


Gregson stared at the flames with a sense of foreboding, but Lafayette’s dream kept echoing inside his head.

“Only one man survives—he’s fat with a receding hairline.” He was the last man standing; did that mean he would survive?”

The chief stared into his eyes. There is only one last task for you to do before you become our god.”

“And what is that?” Gregson asked.

“You must beat the village shaman in our pizza eating contest.”

“You get pizza down here?

“Air dropped!”

Gregson looked at the tower of Pizza Hut boxes and suddenly his hunger returned. He gazed at the village shaman, who was fat with a receding hairline.

“It’s not over til it’s over,” Gregson said.

“You got that right!”


Gregson tasted the cheese and he was his old self again. One pizza disappeared and then another. The shaman couldn’t continue. And Gregson reach for the last slice and swallowed it whole.

“Hail our god!”

That’s all good and well, but I do need to get home. Do any of you know how to get there.”

The chief handed Gregson his cell phone. “Call helicopter.”

“What?” Gregson said. “I thought you people were untouched by human kind.”

“Who are you calling, ‘you people.'”

“What?” Gregson said.