About the author

he began

his career

in disgrace

 

attracted

to light

overwhelmed

by uncertainty

given to embellishment

and romanticizing

the struggle

 

he never knew

when to leave

well enough

alone

 

he died

in here

somewhere

and yet

he continues

to look for

the light

a poem about fire

i started a fire. i thought it would be good. i never meant to burn anyone. i did not know i could. i knew that i was guilty. i saw the evidence. i started another fire out of expedience. it did not absolve me. it only made things worse. i made another fire but the damage was not reversed. i set fire to that fire and all the fire that i lit. and when they became an inferno, i walked into it

tuesday poem

i miss the paper. i miss the pen. i miss the things that inspired me then. i miss the meter. i miss the rhyme. i miss the things that pass with time. i miss the form. i miss the style. i miss the things i dared not defile. i miss the performance. i miss the review. i miss the audience. and i miss you.

A poem for Monday

I hammered out the shadows. And painted all the dreams white. I am ready for anything now. I am ready to deconstruct the night. And when i am certain that i have no breath left to keep. Then and only then will i lay down to sleep