Monthly Archives: April 2014

Madman’s Inner Monologue

Musing on the advice given to me,

I settle in for another long night.

(Be happy, damn you. What else could you be


But happy? Why wallow in misery?

Are you doing it just to start a fight?)

Musing on the advice given to me,


I ponder what it would take to be free,

What I would have to do to make things right.

(Be happy.) Damn you! What else could you be


But a ghost that torments incessantly,

A revenant that revels in its spite,

Musing on the advice given to me,


Plotting one last cruelty out perfectly?

What can I do but prepare for some slight?

(Be happy, damn you.) What else? Could you be


More helpful? Would I know it when I see–

Never mind. There’s nothing here but a trite

Musing on the advice given to me.

(Be happy, damn you. What else could you be?)


There you have it, folks. Thirty poems in thirty days. Tune in tomorrow for something that is absolutely not going to be poetry!



Tremble, Heorot! Hear you what I need:

Give me something to shoot, a sword to swing,

Give me a hated enemy that bleeds!

Give me a mug of ale and bards that sing

The songs of my greatness, my strength, my might.

I have slain ogre and bested monster!

Give me your virgin daughter for a wife!

Pray, have I not won glory and honor?

Why, then, do you not bow at my coming?

What more must I do for you drop to

Your knees? Whose blood must I spill, heart drumming

Like warsong? What armor must I cleave through?

Frail things pass me. I am alone and tense.

Who must I kill to make this world make sense?


To Whom It May Concern:


This is and is not me.


I am Schrodinger’s cat, cynic and idealist at the same moment. I am the Earth in its orbit, cold stone encircling a burning core. I am not an atheist, but I am an existentialist. It is easier for me to believe in God than in our own future.


But I want to believe. At the core of the cynicism is a hopeful, guileless optimism. I see the world for what it is, and I hate it. I accept it. I see the ways it could be different, could be better, and I wish so desperately that it was.

21st Century Blues

Got too many people in this spread out town.

Got too many people all just sitting around.

Lord, I got to get away from this place,

But all others are just a hole in the ground.


Lord, been months without a friendly face.

Lord, been months since I’ve gotten a taste.

Feels like there ain’t nothing left for me here.

Lord, it feels like I came in last in the race.


Sunday night and I’m just sitting here.

Sunday night and I’m on my fourth beer.

Monday morning and I got nothing to lose.

Lord, I can’t shake these 21st century blues.


Diabla, how you tempt me!

My hands tremble

To think of your white form,

To think of the dark secret places


I could inhale your scent,

Taste you with my tongue,

Feel you excite my soul,

Feel you numb my body





I could spend night and day

In your grasp,

Exhaust dollar and soul,

Embrace you,

Embrace this feeling

Until my heart explodes

A Ghazal for the Muses

Calliope, I have had a long night tonight.

There are no epics, only my regrets, tonight.


The old gods and goddesses have abandoned me.

My prayers, my pleas seek new divinities tonight.


The night is as empty as it has ever been.

I sleep alone in the blistering cold tonight.


In a featureless Mecca, I find my own way.

Euterpe, I sing the song of my soul tonight.


Erato, there is so much I wish I could say.

Insecurity has taken my words tonight.

A Translation of Pablo Neruda’s “La United Fruit Co.”

When the trumpet sounded,

All was prepared on Earth

And God divided the world between

Coca-Cola, Anaconda Copper,

Ford Motors, and other companies.

To the United Fruit Company

Went the juiciest piece,

The central coast of my world,

The sweet waist of the Americas.


It rechristened these lands

“Banana Republics,”

And over the sleeping dead,

Over the restless

Conquering heroes,

The liberty and the flags,

It established a farce:

It outlawed free will,

It handed out imperial crowns,

It unleashed envy.

It attracted a dictatorship of flies,

Trujillo flies, Tacho flies,

Carías flies, Martínez flies,

Ubico flies, flies wet

With the blood of the poor and marmalade,

Flies drunk and buzzing

Over the graves of the people,

Circus flies, flies

Well-versed in tyranny.


Among the bloody flies,

The Fruit Company made landfall,

Pillaging the coffee and the fruit.

In fleets like serving trays,

The treasure of our sunken lands

Slipped away.



In the sugary depths of the ports,

The fallen Indians were buried

In the morning mists:

A tumbling corpse, a nameless

Thing, a forgotten statistic,

A bunch of dead fruit

Tossed into the trash.

%d bloggers like this: