4 Minutes

In 4 minutes I will attempt

To write words

Strung together with

Some meaning

My eyes are stuck to the screen


Written in an attempt to say

What I have postponed along the way

Returning to ritual

Feels good

Yet not unusual

Uneasy Life Matters

A mind scattered

Pulled apart and tattered

Will make not one noise when shattered

Yet others will wonder and chatter

With him there is something wrong

Something must be the matter

But no words will be used to flatter

My uneasy life matters

Humanities Weary Seam

Where do lost dreams go

From the heads of dreamers

To the world outflow

Do dreams dry up and fall away

Do dreams pack up on a rainy day

Is there a collection of dreams

On the other side of time

Or gently recycled

What was once yours

Is now mine

Do dreams rest well below the sand

Never to be unearthed or seen again

Fall like autumn leaves on a cold day

Raked together and thrown away

Or do they linger around

Like the smell of smoke in an old town car

Can you see them trying to survive

Like summer grass planted late in July

Do they hold any hope of reimurging

Like dreams floating up and resurging

Or do dreams walk away quietly

Not disrupting the feelings inside me

Or do they burn out bright and wildly

Dreams exist

Dreams must not die

It gives me hope

To run fast or fly

Some are real

Some uncertain

Take the time

Pull back the curtain

In each of us I am certain

Behind humanities weary seam

We will find

Each one of us has a dream


Perfusion of the Sociopath

The inconsolable sociopath

Taking note of what to destroy

Along the path

It is sad

That little can be done for such sadness

How can I reflect on my own faults

Weaknesses and shortcomings

Undone and left for incomplete

I wake in the morning

To refine the nimbleness of the fingers

Mind and stretch the soul

I will admit that my own weakness

Is that I can not slow down

Take hold

But if we search for only the shortcomings

Of one another

We will be sorely disappointed

None can claim perfection as a profession

Such naysayers can have such perfusion

A fusion feeding the needing soul

Passing through this life

Looking for the simple imperfections to hold on to

I pass over this

Wake up again and let it go to rest

There is only so much stress

I stay cool

Under the real life test

Manhattan Avenue

On a Tuesday afternoon

I start to feel my hope slip away

Just a bit

It’s that tiny voice it will say

To drudge on in a world uncertain

Don’t give up now

Please don’t pull the curtain

But when I walk down the street

My heart heavy in my chest

The little voice can’t be heard

Can’t be heard anymore

Even when I give it my best

I try to reinvigorate what may be lost

Walking on Manhattan Ave

Damn rents got me down

On such high costs

That I just have to focus on breath

In and out

I can make it through this day

I have not one doubt

I must rekindle the light words

That once rung in my ears

What was once a mighty roar

I just now barely hear

Complicated Maneuvers

There it is

Spilled my coffee again

In a rush

To make it out

Into the thin

Brittle cold air

Of a New York morning

I reset myself

I should give them some forewarning

Grab some paper towel

I’m already 10 minutes late

If the G is on time that is

My mind begins to race

Such a simple morning

Now turns into complicated maneuvers

I watch the bright white paper towels

Turn to a more rusted out brown

Take a sip of my coffee

Then set it down

In the trash and out the door

I hear the train horn

I run down the stairs

In the old turnstile

With the attendant half asleep

Make the train

Only by a couple of feet

A New Year

Early morning callings

Waking up from dreams

Rain hits glass soft clipping steam

I think of what 2015 brings

2014 brought many things

New life

Loss of life


Reminding me that not every new year

Is your friend

But with age comes time

And with time age

Lives are born

While others taken away

So I lay in bed

2 days into the new year

Hope for the best

Hold back my fears

Of what time may bring me

with the New Year

Unfettered Risk

The risk of the situation

At hand

Money, life, time, love

Put on the line

Inhibitions to the wind

But sometimes I way awake

In the early hours of the morning




As the light turn out to on

From black to the palest of blues

Have I done the right thing

For me

For you

One can only hold their breathe so long

Before the body reacts

I have to get some sleep

Find a way to relax

But somehow I have grown to love this life

Uncertainty abounding

There is something romantic

Not knowing where the next paycheck is found

So I close my eyes and count to 10

And I slowly fall asleep again

Three Letter Prose

Building rows

Of three letter prose

Steady up

And steady grows

Sunday Mornings wane lightly

Just enough momentum

To get flying

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner

In the midst of a mild winter

Growing up

But not growing old

This is how the week

Slowly lulls me back

Ready to begin


Relative Hesitation

The slightest hesitation

Bound up in eternal


One moment later

Can be a true difference maker

When realizing what will be my mark

Leftover when I am through

Will I have waited

For some long awaited hopes

Or woken at dawn

To climb the morning ropes

Destiny has to relation

For those caught up

In hesitation