“What  you think of me I cannot take,” the bull whispers to the goat.  “You find me too big and brutish with wisdom and I find you grumpy and brittle with anger.”

“You disgust me!” the goat yells back, pieces of can escaping from his mouth. “Why won’t you just love me?”

“Why won’t you just love me?”

“Why won’t you just love me?”

“We’re repeating ourselves.” The bull huffs.

The bull walks.

The bull writes, paints, feels, cries, tries and fails.

“I do love you.”


Don’t change a thing.




Lucy, her name is Lucy and I wonder. I wonder how deeply do I let her see me?

How deep do I let her hold me into her guts and see that I am beauty.

He says the same thing she said to the others…you are beautiful.

Fall hard with me again

even if it is only for the love of words.

If it is only for the capture of the toes that dip in the grape vines.

Tell me you love me again and let us not change a thing the reality will crush us but for tonight, for ever, be my dream.

Come here again.

Curl in my lap and be the dream again.

Never to touch the tainted reality that is life.



Third person, fourth person, none person…

Change inevitable.

Like the clouds changing from dog to tornado and ripping away the child from your arms.

Speak  freely of the liquor you ingested to tell you the truth of  all things out side of yourself.

I looked at you today and you looked ill for a man of 40.

Eyes yellow. Burnt yellow like the stains on  your finger tips from endless tobacco burn.

I wondered if you knew, that we know, you are an alcoholic.

I know you fear the inevitable grave or closet.

But I am here to free  you.

Step out into this air  I call, you.

I call it  you because all air is you.

All air is all things.

So simply complicated at the moment that you must drink to take it in.

If you are wanting to die, and you will, eventually, but if you are wanting to die from alcoholism then you are on your way.

You are allowed to choose to die this way.I will support you in all you choose.

I support you in all you have no control over.

I support  you even though you remind me of my father. Do you stick your dick in everything too? . . .I care not.

I judge not.

I only live to witness and to comfort the soul inside the ailed body.

I am  here for you.

I am here for  your yellow eyes and your nicotine stained hands and lips.

I am here for you while you sit in the basement alone  hating everything about yourself, wishing something would change, knowing it is you but wishing it weren’t.

I sit with  you and I let  you put your head on my shoulder. shhhhh, breathe. shhhhh, take your drink. or . . . don’t.

Either way I am here .

Only the eyes.

Only the story.

Only the poem.

Only the forgotten daughter.

Nothing more.

Nothing less. . . Just witness.