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Tag Archives: abstraction

An Inconvenient Parenting

Grappling hook enters—pulling,

Shredding thin, spread apart, contusion like-life, swollen, misapplied, scientific decay upon a bristling plot of never-land


Hope as drapery, decanters of double sec

Flying, sheets high, winds low, still capable of developing cogent rebuttals while facing the collusions of an undistinguished temperament and therein an under

Appreciated calamity is born from wounds untended


Soapy dishrag gets that odor when left out too long

And the stains won’t remove themselves and it is understood, that even as the smile purges Australian from above the slurring tongue, the cigarette dangles, still burning ash to lip…lip to linoleum


The screams from the pram apparently are much too inconvenient—an observation from behind the door curtain—

Thusly, the beginnings of speech are louder than the masquerades themselves—County services will render verdict

Soon, one would hope, that is, if the funding still applies.


***the other day I was out for a walk and I just kept seeing some terrible examples of parenting.  And while the images and description in this piece are not the exact things seen while on that walk, the observation that there are far too many unfit parents out there stuck with me.  And it also made me reflect upon just how fortunate I had it with, in my opinion, outstanding parents, and how I so wish these children and all those out there who don’t or didn’t have it as lucky as I did, would’ve had at least some semblance of proper care growing up.****


Non-Fiction Journalist?



Bludgeoned by debris.

Karma or ironic disharmony


Will the weather change, will the winds die down,

Will the scourge repent, after the waves surround

Will the writer be spared, if only to tell others the tale?

Will the flood send you swimming, into the belly of a whale?



Haunted to a fright

By the specters disbelieved within his sights


Will the supernatural have its way?

Can the hours stop simply because time is frayed?

Will the ghosts and demons spare your tears?

Can this ever end well; will this conclude as many others fear?


Non-Fiction Journalist

To what lengths will you go, to bring life to those words that would much rather remain unexposed?


Stories hunted for, stories claimed, in the name of future fame, looking for something, searching for gold, yet never realizing, that it’s often in the alchemy, that we become both villain and victim as other’s thumb the prose

Catwalks and Carpenter ants

She skirts, low-cuts, cacti
Prickling knees—chlorophyll
Apostrophizing ankles—calves
Too young, to understand, the
Virtue of cleanliness

Pollinated breeze—scuffling through
Antacid skies—vacuous and calm—altruistically
Abridged in sparse drifts of time—locally known
And revered—for all the theses that yet be found

Various designations—cold
Yet mutually respected by the
Calderon and the purple flogging
Whip of timid misgiving

Countdown to song…Waifs as numb to life
As art is too it’s innocuous support—imagined
To captivate—to which it does—lines commence—
Fire brews—intentions for survival is all that situate—the difference between the laborious and those consumed by stylistic greed.

This Version

an inferior program
would calculate
radically obstructed
pathways for this
version to surmount

a proficient instrument
would understand, the
elementary wisdom
in the comfort of the
sensing strands

Lakes of fear and doubt
lure their charm, instilling
enticing glances unnoticed
by other versions

The shell can operate comfortably
on five, yet six to eight are
optimally preferred

A worthless version is one
that forgets all its instruction,
casts shame upon a world with its
ignorance, beckoning forth the
shadow stream, ever operating
unwittingly, under the controls
of another