Featured poetry

  • 1915

No Goodnight

I can feel her love painting my face again,
Joy inviting me to dance.
I can hear her song again.
Burning newspapers
And a glass full of wine.
I said all I have to say.
That was yesterday.
News burns from another time.
The varnished floors
Are cracking,
Making love with the light.
Sparrows on the long train home.
Don’t kiss me goodnight.
I said all I have to say.
Don’t make me say it again.

  • 1913

An Unsent Letter

Where have you gone?
Edited in this line of text.
An unsent love letter to
Things as they should have been.
I’d prefer you here my friend.
I may not hold you like I used to,
May not lose myself in your thrusts.
But I’d rather you were here.
I don’t hold the thorns you said
In my side anymore.
Paint my face in your lies,
Fill my lungs with smoke,
Or walk the soft green grass
In stiff leather shoes.
Bare foot the green has become my soul.
A song to Papatuanuku,
A gentle caress
Of all that is true.
The truth that has no words.

  • 1847


across the street, a
night light awaits the sunrise –
sounds of dripping rain

  • 1825


the sunlight dances
upon autumn’s veins, once green
in a hard, spring wind

  • 1756


water dripping down
from rusting pipes counting time –
the sun’s morning crown

  • 1687


the night’s starry robe
dresses the hills – an old man
limps down empty roads

  • 1642

Sign Your Name

Today, my name
Was etched into steel
But you tell me
This is not how it feels.
I say there is no
No “F” in friend,
No “U” in unaware.
Only some random drugs that say
Goodbye, world.
If only.

  • 1614


ears freeze in the hiss
of winds coming from the south;
a mother’s soft kiss.

  • 1599


On an oily road
Drivers try to gain control;
A programmer’s code.

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Short Fiction

  • 1309


August 6th, 2018|0 Comments

“You’re a racist,” he said. “And racists don’t get jobs here.” Tom swallowed. Nobody fucking calls me a racist, he thought. The interviewer started to put Tom's papers back into the brown manila folder. “And I’m gonna report you for discrimination,” Tom said. The interviewer laughed as he closed the folder. “You hate faggots,” Tom continued trying to force the point home. The interviewer smirked, “You haven’t got a leg to stand on.” “I’ll have these,” Tom said, and quickly took the papers and ran from the building. It had been two weeks since the interview with the faggot [...]

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