love and privacy and blindness

shave off the hate on my back
put it on your shelf
keep it long and beautiful and
keep it to yourself

forget about your wasting love
it was just a waste of time
before you get to feeling bad
it was just as well a waste of mine

and what’s a man to do but feel he’s wrong
for loving the one he loves and wondering how
his simple train ran off and got derailed
and his past forgot its place and became now

carve love into your broken soul
remember why you’re mad
sink lower than you’ve gone before
disguise your words with words you’ve had

and never wonder why
never wonder why

and what’s a man to feel but lonely guilt
he’ll watch the burning house he only built
suck dry his dirty insults till he’s stale
trek past his broken glasses for the braille

and never wonder why
never wonder why
never wonder why
never wonder why


i spoke with the sun
about a certain someone
the conversation was brief
and all the while i spun

he who sees from all angles
and burns bunned hair in tangles
he confirmed what i already knew
that memory of hatred strangles

from there i retired home
and configured a tired poem
(one for her and one for myself)
and ran my hair through a comb

a mirror plagiarized my face
and i arrived in a new space
i saw love in a human being
and i felt it in her embrace


this is how it feels to win
 it’s clay, mayweather, tyson
 it’s wanting something and getting it

fat kings in robes bow
 i sing the globe now

it’s the right turn on lucky st.
 it’s every cheesy ending
 it’s every heartstring mending

for once it’s there
 the dunce in prayer
 a fawn to care

it’s trouble sleeping at night
 once dreams have moved
 from one bed to another

the hibernation’s over
 a writer paid in clovers
 a driver paves his motor
 it’s over

it’s a cool hellish prelude
 to another warm embrace
 i save face with a taste

it’s a dead star with handlebars
 enjoying his reruns
 loving his loved ones

this is how it feels to be on top
 to stop your sobbing with a dusty mop 
 it’s another musty tome at home
 it’s just another love poem


sometimes when it’s quiet
i wonder how much i meant to you
and when i see your smiling face
i shrug and realise i already knew


closed tomes haunt the dreams of the recluse
how the unknown taunts the hermit’s schemes
the conflicting notions in his head call a truce
as the oceans of his bed tear about his seams
he seems, drowning, to lament at long last
all that which he never sounded in the past
toward unknown extremes gaze his eyes glassed
high beams blaze his white flag at half-mast

i never learnt to swim

another one for the books my friend
another love alone
i’ve carried on for far too long
this alleged heavy stone
and i hear it: “on and on and on”
i take it blow by blow
an accidental tragedy
how it moved us all
i’ve taken to life on the sea, my friend
too calm ain’t calm at all
we live and die in misery
love’s not love at all
on the bow awaits my god, at last
we’ll rise ‘till we are one
for the rain i could not find my way
i iced the horizon sun
the tide’s coming in and i need you
my one regret: i never learnt to swim

like shattered glass

she closed the book, placed it on the table, and, finally, decided to walk through the door. she, being marie, formerly mary, knew precisely her purpose in the tiresome world.

unlocked and unsecure, the door, as it was, appeared, at once, in marie’s sweet mind. azure, with golden, unimportant details, the door found itself being swung open with unbelievable force. it was an unfamiliar feeling, this hunger and wanting; it fueled itself and became ceaseless in its sweep.

on the other side was jack, formerly johnboy, clad in chaps and dark shades. understandingly, yes, damn near too understandingly, jack ran to embrace marie. in another life, perhaps, the two were one.

“what’s troubling you, baby blue?” whispered jack, gently, into marie’s ear.

“we’re born to die, jack; born to grow old and then die, focusing, here and there, on the boiler-plate in between,” said marie, in her deep, brooding lament.

jack held her, believing it was what he did best.

marie smelled of perfume although she did not look it. she was very simply dressed, wearing naught but her favourite summer dress and her mother’s handbag.

“it’s not that simple,” said jack, loosening his grip. “nothing ever is.”

“i brought something for you.”

marie reached into her purse and fumbled around for a few moments.

“well, i — it’s gone… i had this book, and…”

marie broke down. she fell to her knees and began to weep. jack collapsed simultaneously, catching a glimpse of the beautiful door as he descended.

“what a marvelous, marvelous door!” said jack, awestruck. “i’ll be.”

marie glanced behind her. the door had shrunken slightly, but remained otherwise unchanged.

“incredible,” remarked jack, starting towards the door. he reached for it and opened it slowly.

inside he found a black table, an empty coatrack and a single light, stuck to the ceiling, seemingly, with little more than scotch tape.

atop the table was a book. it was leather-bound and appeared to contain at least eight hundred pages. on its front cover, it read, embossed in golden print: the bible.

“this? this was the book you meant to give to me?” asked jack, slightly puzzled. “i’m no christian, marie. you know that.”

“open it,” was all marie said in return.

jack approached the table one step at a time, with the utmost caution. he stretched out his trembling fingers to touch the holy book and opened it carefully.

jack stared. it was hollowed out. inside was a single key, azure in colour, with golden frills. jack lifted it to get a closer look, and, with it, taped loosely to the rear, came a small, greying piece of paper, thin as could be. it read:

“search the scriptures; for in them ye think 
ye have eternal life: and they are they which 
testify of me” (john 5:39).

jack glanced around and noticed that marie had vanished. he ran to the door to find that it had been locked.

jack tried the key. it didn’t budge.

he removed the key, placed it on the table, and, finally, decided that he had been wrong all along, and that, now, he had the rest of his short life to contemplate where, exactly, he went astray.

sonnet #1

hide away from the things you love the most,
shy friend; be not afraid to hold the sun.
sail the outskirts of my heart, coast to coast,
until there is not two, but only one.
i will open up if you want to know,
and i will steal the shade from ‘neath the trees.
no farmed fields i would not, with you, watch grow;
my dear friend, all good love will come in threes.
loneliness should never be an illness,
for a heart as lovely and wondrous as yours.
impossible, sometimes, is happiness,
wading in a shallow pool on all fours.
stare in sheer amazement at the skies,
as if all life could live simply with lies.

one of my poems got published in a nation-wide magazine called teen ink 8)
the last slice of pizza

out to lunch
with a friend
two lovers
of food and
one box of
cheese on tomato.
fifteen minutes,
fifteen pounds;
one slice left.
if i take that
last piece,
i will be at the
pizza shop for
two minutes 
i will
be late coming
home and i will
stumble with the
stick shift in
the dark and my
stomach will ache
and i will lose
control and crash.
i will emerge from the
wreckage limbless and
brain damaged and
it will be so
cold that i
won’t be able to
feel my fingers.
i will try to stumble
along and i will slip
into a puddle of
nuclear waste
and i will shrink
and no one will
be able to find me
and i will die
alone and
and glowing
i’ll decide instead to
bag the slice
for later.