you haunt me
   like winter specters
   lost in summers
   off California coastlines

I am pleading for horizons
   that drown suns and
   birth complexions of obsidian
   cathedrals draped in rain

bleed into me your last hope
   I will shelter it like tidal lullabies
   over sacrosanct reefs of coral
   memories carved in cerebral stone

breathe into me your last kiss
   I will devour it
   like eternity devouring oblivion
   like time devouring love

Wish We’d-a Never Bought a King Sized Bed


When the walls started to crumble
They breathed a heavy sigh
Of rumbling relief
The broken bricks fell
In upon us
As we drowned in depths
Of choking dust
Rushing in with currents of change -
Postponed catastrophe
Rising up from the floor

When the walls started to crumble
They buried us in hard-fought peace
Coming to rest
Like a snapped rubber band
Pulled to the point of purpose
And then a little further
Tensions settled
Intentions clouded
We embraced solely for safety
In the center of it all

I am a walking past

     of my childhood
     haunt my mirrors

I mourn
     not my death
     but my dying

I feel
     not my pain
     but my numbing

My empathy
     is a glacier
     that sits in the
     palm of my hand

I had
     set out to change
     the world — only
     to realize that

I am
     the one changed
     by it

My truth
     has not
     set me free

Syria; or, It Shouldn’t Be Like This


whispers on backs of
ashen leaves tussled in
fields scorched by
blood-fueled flames of
wars over boundaries by
men with not enough clout to
convince themselves of
their satisfactory existence

are we but lost faces
voices adrift in amnesiac history
is our blood but the air you breathe
in you out you not a thought given

is man not man’s worst foe
we surely will be our demise

(Author’s note:  Oddly inspired by PMSG69’s Tuesday Conversation)

Tumblr UnPoeming


Here are some helpful tips in case you get stuck on how to unpoem on Tumblr


  1. As word count increases, notes decrease
  2. As poem crafting time increases, notes decrease at a rate of 10 notes/minute
  3. Quotes by famous people will outperform your own quotes by a factor of 1,000 (suggestion: name change)
  4. As thesaurus lookups increase, followers decrease
  5. Poems about sex should be six words
  6. Capitalized letters decrease notes by hipsters at a rate of 10/letter
  7. Tumblr famous is a myth (see quotes by famous people)
  8. As IQ increases, notes decrease, unless your avatar is an animal

Here is an expectation guide for increasing notes on poems with photos:

With Photo / Without Photo

Porn  100 / 10
Sun  70 / 10
Artwork  50 / 10
Tree  55 / 10
Animal  40 / 10
Selfie  30 / 10
Handwriting  20 / 10

Hope this helps you unpoem!

*for entertainment purposes only, kinda like Tumblr

james . earl . jones . is not your father .

i spread myself . cool . like withered whips . on copenhagen royals . cumbersome benediction . striking from vocal . chords . a justification for herbicide . as a means for stemming . population growth . blackboard confessionals . on blushing porcelain . we chalk it up . to ceramic celibacy . like oaths meant for melancholic monks . the cowards . bald-headed and yellow-bellied . the world is meant to be experienced . not shut out . god and i . know this . we are rabid dogs . searching . for just one more . jugular . to eviscerate . walking atrocities . these men . that call for peace . you must let such things play out . or the children will keep playing . sudden death . overtime . ceasefires are for suckers . and commercial breaks . war is all filler . like the pasta . in all-you-can-eat buffets . bloody marinara . the value is in the meat . the massacre . dead men throw no bombs . survivors do . you are rain on my lips . i am desolation . wilderness . this is a love poem .

If You Were


If you were a cloud, you’d be a dragon.
If you were a potato, you’d grow under the fence and piss off my neighbor.
If you were a liar, you’d sing songs that made kids laugh in hospital beds.
If you were a kid in a hospital bed, you’d be the older one that read stories to the younger, sicker, patients.
If you were an elephant, you’d be the Matriarch. 
If you held my hand, I’d trace the veins with my pinky until you got pissed off and threw lavender at my face.
If you were a light, you’d be the lampshade that lit my room as I played hide and seek with the shadows at 4AM. 
If you were an airplane, you’d never land in my city.
If you were a bird, you’d be an albatross (they have huge wings and fly over the roughest seas).
If you were the ocean, you’d form tsunami’s every year. But only visit the uninhabited islands.
If you were a cloud, you’d rain for ten days and, when the storms ending, you’d never let the sun peak out from behind you. 
If you were a sky, you’d be the night.
If you were the moon, you’d only ever be full.
If you were, if you were, if you were, if you were, if you were.
If you were a hand, I’d never let you go.

Divorce is Like


Divorce is like you love scuba diving.  You are a scuba diving expert.  You have all the gear, and you scuba dive every day.

Then one day your best friend takes their alien ship and sucks all the water off the planet.  You are like, what the fuck can I have some water, and they are like, no, to hell with you.  You now live in a desert.  You walk around and remember the places where you used to scuba dive.  You feel so bad for all the rotting fish.  You have all the gear still.  Most of your brain is now filled with useless scuba diving knowledge.  You have pictures of you scuba diving.  There is now dust on your sheets, in your nostrils.  

Everyone you ever knew is like, sorry, I don’t want to live on your desert planet.  See ya.  Or worse, they are like, you should take up rock climbing.  You are like, I don’t want to rock climb, I want to scuba dive.

As the years pass, you search for water.  You think you see the hint of clouds in other people’s eyes, and every time it’s a mirage.  You eventually take up rock climbing just to pass the time.  You build a pyramid or two, and write bizarre hieroglyphics all over.

If you have children, when they visit your desert, they are always like, hey, on the other planet the water is so blue.  You turn away and say, that’s nice, when what you want to say is, kids, never scuba dive.

New people are like, who is that crazy hermit living in the desert, and why is all this devastated scuba gear scattered around the base of this cliff.

Your world eventually moves on.  You forgive, or at least become less angry.  You find pieces of obsidian in the desert, shine them with moonlight, and give them to passerbys.  You accept the sand.

The irony is, all the while, inside your parched and battered skin, you are raining.