Apparition Poem # 1496

Night an eight-inch blade,
more armor to be made,
silver as full moon's ache,
nerves mustn't hurt, shake,
extra time a lover's shade-
if I'm re-sprung to get laid,
after all debts have been repaid,
I can keep my parts awake,
master Hell for Heaven's sake-
she billows/blares blonde-fade,
I circle her eternally, wherefore
walls of her beauty shimmer, it's
a fracas of Biblical proportions,
nightstands nudging pills up ours-


This Isn't History, It's an Episode

My story is pretty simple—

Because I couldn’t finish a novel
My life begins

In a nation that does not exist yet

The icon & I weren’t personally close
Our family fled their orchards—

From medieval kabbalists
To 20th century refugees—

Our fury seems particularly apparent here

In a nation that does not exist yet

Where actors are hired to read scripts
& pretend
To be real people

My uncle told me—

This week’s parasha introduces a medium
For distinguishing truth
From falsehood—

That was my life

I was giving up
I was going back home

My uncle told me—

On the radio, things aren’t so simple

Leaving the icon to believe
One of two things—

A river was there
& it had two banks


Apparition Poem # 1289


Out stare the black eyes
of your mouth, as you out-
Jesus my parts, but from a side
of Heaven under-mentioned
in your Bible of half-meant jests,
& I watch you get cross-
"Take the bait, you little brat,
or I might be forced to eat
shit and try to fuck you again-
efface myself from your obsession,
become a priceless possession
you can forget about, now that I am,
again, yours, & that's that- take it!"

from Apparition Poems (#1340)


Arms folded over chest
(as the man on the four of
Swords), she paints inside
a box-like carven space,
(dank edges only seen on
the outside), light filters in
from small square windows,
I hover over her, I’m this
that she wants, but what
she needs is to once again
feel what avalanches can’t
reach this head so full of
color, ribbons, blueness.


Try Submitting to 'Pider, A New Poetry/Art Mag


me and a friend are propping up an online journal under the title of 'Pider, and I am hoping you may be able to somehow spread that tid-bit of information around to those who would be interested. we are looking for puncher's fists, lost infantries of troops, hungry sleep.

one may send submissions of text, art, .mp3's... to:

what do ya think?



Otoliths 21 Is On Line Now

It has been 5 sweet years since Mark Young began putting out Otoliths. In that period of time he has been one of the most generous publisher/editors in the game.
It is my contention that effort such as his should be supported, so visit Otoliths and enjoy the fruits of Mark's labor.

My poems may be viewed at