deadbolt

i remember when i
did not feel safe

without a
surgical steel
Stiletto switchblade
pressed in
my palm

behind
a dead and
bolted
door

still

the greatest
danger i faced
at that time
was me

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five

i found my peace in silence

i found my peace in a cup of coffee

i found peace in an early morning run

i found peace in devotion. working.

i found my peace in you

typewriter.15

one morning you sit down
to your work with your coffee
beside you and

the tides have been broken 
they have turned on the ocean!
this is what you came for
so suddenly
emergent

disciple to words
the reading
the writing

the sea and the healing
fresh atmosphere replaces
the ceiling! an absence of the world
you recollect so unfeeling

your voice is upon you
you’ve found yourself! finally
the struggle is gone
you no longer push into page

strangely awakened
enveloped by an undercurrent
you sing the song you were born to sing
you come thrashing to surface!

like faith
you cannot see it
you only feel it
you know

these are the moments a writer lives by!
when time loses interest
appetite gone silent
and the sentences form on their own

full of spirit!
making meaning
full of feeling!
with rhythm and rolling

you collide with the page
like a strike
when you’re bowling

thank the stars
thank the gods
you got lucky
kid

typewriter.13

Day old adherents

keep pressing and pressing
free press makes a difference
but truth falls again
to the floor

nothing sticks
in a day. a month
not even a year

your expressions are painted
to resemble the real
the artwork’s on sale again
imitating a steal

unless you step out of your comfort
and into your twilight zone you
cannot be credible and
that’s how i feel

find out what you care most about
what you believe in
and share

at the end of every night
lie down with your work
to wake up with it

the cards are the same
they get dealt and
we deal

we suffer. we feel
that’s how real gets to real

make friends with your fear
have tea with anxiety
have courage to say what you believe

let your island of opinions
into the weave

typewriter. four

we drank coffee and squeezed oranges
in the morning. canadien whisky
at night with milk. smoking
4 finger lids

the letter c
started to stick
i had to find oil
and take arms
she was essential
to my vocabulary

tuning our guitars together
swimming out past the
sandbar to the lone buoy
the hammerheads liked to
circle

typewriter. three

the bluefish dissolved when
the devil rays flew in
and the sea disseminated
into sky

a line no
longer

what a solution
now nothing would never
make sense

we watched westerns

people struggling
people gettin’ angry gettin’ loud
everything burnin’ in the sun spell
people in the city park
wading into the fountains
oblivious

people gettin’ high
people gettin’ drunk
staring at the sky
hittin’ a goldmine
hittin’ a vein
barely gettin’ by

people bein’ offensive
mistakin’ themselves 4 radicals
people bein’ abusive
mistakin’ themselves
for anarchists

everyone wants a headline
even a recluse

sometimes
late at night
other times
middle of the day

sometimes
bottom of the first
tagged by heat
hash brown
eyeballs yellow

ready to steal
flagged
indiscreet

sunny side staring
up from the
plate

after a spell
feelin’ so done with it all

we
we watched
westerns