A Daydream

i had a daydream then,
as i was being drawn to the noose
someone in the crowd yelled,
it was so vivid
as echoes on the old stone walls.
the rope squeezed
and i realized
i’ve been traversing
incomprehensible distances
inside my own mind,
while running the treadmill.


I’ve never considered myself to be a conversationalist, in fact I’ve beat myself up for being boring, for having nothing to say at the moment when something obviously needed to be said. Yet here I am writing poems, the written form of conversation.


I subscribe to leading a life directed by a knowledge that memory is not only some place in your brain, that memory is stored in the muscles, nerves, and cells of your body and that when you learn to trust that memory you can live poetry.

Too Many Mistakes (A Poem)

Well, i was laying on my side, melting into the mattress,

liquid layers of vibrations, carrying me away.

i was listening to my aura, as subatomic

particles in mid flight; like a helicopter above and

around my head. i felt the energy created through a lifetime

my heart beats like a time bomb, everything whirring

into a directionless direction.

I could feel the anger and resentment

built up in adolescence, aimed at the world

-which didn’t care either way.

I could feel the weight of the damage done over the years

trying to punish this body

that caused so much pain

-and it turns out this body doesn’t care either.

corroded stomach lining,

eaten away by battery acid.

weakened bladder, what does it matter?

if i’d had the resolve

and the right concentration

i could’ve continued my transcendence

back into the subatomic Original vibrations

but i was distracted,


by the fear of having made

too many irreversible mistakes.


Resigned to a reality where everything and everyone is story

A lesson to be learned around every corner. Social circles. YouTube drama. Science fiction, reality TV.

My ego is my project, projected through the screen. You know what I mean?

Reflecting on a reflection of the actor acting the way I’ve seen

Kristen Bell pens the absolute sweetest note for Dax Shepard’s sobriety birthday

Is this how I’m supposed to be?

Compare, rank, evaluate.

I almost like the glow of the screen, in front of my face, tablet on belly

While I nod off to sleep, cooking my inner intestines.

Sometimes I think, I think about my self too much. I watch. I’d like to say that’s not true. But it is.

My favorite philosopher is Heraclitus.

Salted blatter on a frying pan, sizzle sizzle splatter.

I used to say the TV was how Society wants you to behave,

Now I say everyone’s glued to their screens, as I …

Kidneys stewing in a three-bean chili

I think maybe I’m not watching my own story enough. What about you?

I’d like to die laying on my side, propped up by my arm, with a compassionate deep gaze on my face.


In this world death is boredom,

it is the sinking feeling in your heart

and your chest, pulling you down into the

couch. A voice echoes, rippling through the corridors of space

trapped within a mind.

When you are the dead you don’t care about anything.

Death is routine. It’s having the same reaction to a similar set of circumstances,

and feeling like every day is exactly the same

I know this world well.

It’s a living hell.

In this world death follows you daily

 because it manifests as the illusion of freedom

Real death is in action, as in the action of following


                   trapped within a mind.

                                    constantly trying to leave something behind

 You are the Dead.


(Note: the title is from the arrest scene in 1984, where Big Brother busts into Winston’s apt. and we hear, “You are the Dead! Remain exactly where you are. Make no moves until you are ordered!” Not meant as some proselytization of Buddhist theory. Since the poem seems to take from some of the themes of 1984 this scene came to mind and thus the title.)

What is freedom? Are thoughts free? What are thoughts anyway? When we choose to believe in the form of a thought, we die. Or so I’ve read.