A Scene from a Dream

Where the hell did he come from? He was a hulking son of a bitch with yellow eyes and pitch black skin, the kind of man that makes another man question his masculinity. One night he was just there, as if he’d always been there, smiling out of the side of his mouth with appraising disdain, unimpressed.

“What’s your name again?” I asked. He muttered something unintelligible.

S – something, mental, aggy – I searched through the list of names on the computer screen for a rhyming pattern.

“Spieramento Agiera?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay, well, I’ve signed you in. Go ahead and get to work and if you have any questions or need any help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Spieramento twisted his body slightly in my direction, glanced down at me from the corner of his eye and flashed an incredulous grin as if he were trying to decide whether I had just told a joke or if I were the joke, then turned and walked away.


Thanksgiving 2018

I used to dream about certain things as a kid. To the best of my memory, all of those dreams have come true – along with every soul-rending fear which accompanied them. Perhaps its time we start dreaming better and fearing more wisely.


“I bargained with Life for a penny,
And Life would pay no more,
However I begged at evening
When I counted my scanty store;

For Life is just an employer,
He gives you what you ask,
But once you have set the wages,
Why, you must bear the task.

I worked for a menial’s hire,
Only to learn, dismayed,
That any wage I had asked of Life,
Life would have paid.”

― Jessie B. Rittenhouse


Can we just be in love for now?

Even if it’s not forever

Maybe it would be better if we admitted that it’s only temporary

And that the way we see each other now will not stand

The test of time

That this cosmic euphoria before which Time cowers

Is but a beautiful chapter in a gripping novella

That we’re writing with our eyes

And our lips, and our fingers

Under speckled skies

Before a hulking comet

In quiet, green parks

In hallowed halls

And in the seats of cars

Facing each other

Maybe the gazes would last longer

If we made friends with Farewell

The nights might not flit to memories so rapidly

Our smiles spreading higher

And imagine just for a moment

That we were no longer afraid

Nor self-conscious

Basking in the certainty that

This may be the last time

Only able to feel the joy and pleasure

That is everything

Trusting that we will betray one another

Hoping that we will become bored

And forgiving all trespasses

Safe in the knowledge

That we shared this together


Terrible thoughts sneak in to my mind sometimes.

They come in the middle of the night, from the dark corners and from under the bed.

They come when the sun begins to set, from the unfinished writings and the creeping rust, the floating dust and the fading streams of light that reveal it.

They come when I’m all alone. From the silence. From the dysrhythmic beats of my heart.

They crave attention. They feed on it and grown drunk on it and as they become drunk and reckless they wreak havoc in my soul

They run and rip, tear, scream and circle in maddening nightmarish shapes

They shake rattle crash shatter break rend

Implode Explode RAPE MAIM laugh smile

Chuckle grin trip fall and grow tired

Eventually they leave me alone for a while

They leave me for dead, exhausted

But they can’t kill me

Nor would they if they could

Candle-lit Writing

It is this time of night I like to write by candle-light

My brain is electric with thoughts too eclectic

To ignore, too cosmic, too hectic

Each wild word must be trapped and preserved

Lest precious ideas risk going unheard

Memories and reveries of old friends and enemies

In clarity the verity of bullshit sincerity

The past, having passed, though not all too fast

Has my eyes open wide and my heart less aghast

If still in bed I may have tried to clear my head

and had a deep breath instead

But I’m glad that by this flickering light, I write

Now come some noises with no apparent source

Some windy, some sharp, some creaky, some coarse

Then there is a quiet

(the machines went on break)

So naturally eerie my lungs seem to quake

A phantom insect just skittered across this page

And I drew my foot back in horror when it grazed the ghoul under the table, signaling that perhaps I should go seek refuge back in my warm, safe bed with the protective fan by my side to drown out all these terrible sounds – and keep me cool