Soviet Lampposts

📸: Photo – 29-SEP-2019 – A photo I took out of my hotel window when I couldn’t sleep in Reykjavik.

Poem:  Scribblings from a hotel near the airport, prior to flight back to the USA.  01-OCT-2019.

reaching a higher plane of understanding via insomnia

jet engines roar past the airport hotel
lifting my hurt into the purpled sky
as we once sought to ascend pain together

back when i thought the higher plane of understanding
meant finding our way back
instead of moving forward, alone

i count the streetlights outside of my window
sleek, elongated rectangles on the ends of delicate arcs
bright, halogen rays that fade at sunrise

there were luxurious depths
of time and care we spent on each other
and a day simply dawned when we couldn’t


Make Me a Wraith

make me a wraith

i stalk my
at nightfall

where spirits
take the form of deer
and move through
parallel pillars
of the oak-lined
suburban sidewalks

i seek them
i beg to belong
i plead

make me a wraith
beyond reproach
not some faded housewife
in a pastel-denim-tiled
suicide nightmare

unconcerned with my existence
the deer sprawl like iron sculptures
on the lawns of perfect brick houses

my black heels rasp
against cement
my slack-mouth
spreads into
a streetlit

some one waits for us

a shutter snaps
from the darkest
stripe of shadow

we claim
to be


Spooky Pon

(📸 Photo Credit: Louis Haas @

Dreams of Eldhraun

seafoam green moss
carpets the ancient
lava field

it is very important
that you never step
on the moss

a rare species
that takes centuries
to grow one centimeter

my clavicles ache
a fine-boned
hollowing bliss

i transform into
a white swan
and twirl to the sky

the land flashing


beneath my wings

A Northern Light


down by the spires
in ice blue waters
i wait
for the bow
of your longship
to graze the black sand beach

aurora borealis

bathed in bright green tears
the despair of the past year
transmutes into light

Jórvik at Sunset

two border collies
rest on the hillside
of the old farm

but soft

as i pace up
the black

a marmalade barncat
follows me
claws out


until dark
stones stick
to her orange coat

we walk together
in silence

the sheep judge
the swans sob
and horses
remain aloof

i suspect
they have
done this

more ancient
and intangible
than the
volcanic mountains
in the purple distance

for i


Keflavik at Dawn, Post Dissolution

i once read
crossing an ocean
divests you from
any source of
that remains
on the far shore

south of
the airport
a modern
spans two

both sides
are sulfuric

i step across the metal planks
hovering above the black scar
of diverging tectonic plates

giddy, shaky
i do not know what
i expect to find
on the other end

i once read
that the universe
and all its energy
are an eternal loop:


i am part of it all
in old leather boots
gazing down
from a bridge
into nothing

Ölfusá River

in raw, glacial streams
nature rinses her paint brush
lead-gray water swirls

The Skeptical Flock

all animals judge!
people who think otherwise
are delusional

Langt ferðalag

This is a poetic self portrait of my soul just before a long journey.

The photo portrait is me in my favorite room of my new house. The dramatic morning sunlight reflects off of my car window and into my sleazy 1970s den.

The words and image both tell the same story: stay weird and get the hell out of your comfort zone.

Iceland, I’ll see you soon.

I will write more when I get back!

Much love to you, as always.


land of ice
and fermented
shark meat

my skewed

fill my mind
with words
not yet invented

free my heart
to blaze against
the magnetosphere

scatter these dreams
in lands of green
and glacier

📷 Photo By Louis Haas – Check out his stuff @

The Irish Graveyard

we explore a disused cemetery
off an old dirt road
in the middle of the forest

four graves are
clearly outlined
by protruding burial mounds
several others sink down
into rectangular pits of decay

slanted crosses slice
into granite headstones

you step back
to line up a shot
and your heel
makes a hollow
wooden THUNK
you tap again
and arch your eyebrow
– a casket
thinly shrouded
by soil

i step swiftly
over several MCMAHONS
to more solid ground
while you snap a photo

a moth
against cold
and i shiver

not from fear of
falling into old graves
but in reverence
of death’s

Allegheny Blues

a wildflower-lined path
leads to a dark forest
specked with sandstone remnants
of crumbling mountains

all senses are muffled
beneath dense pines

mushrooms, moss, and needles
cover the loamy floor

fiddle-leaved fern fronds
ache towards muted sunlight

i used to
climb these rocks
and pretend they were battleships
wrap myself
in the lonely folds of the hills
blunt my pain
against the geologic scale of time

i can still show you
where black salamanders
and neon-orange newts hide
where spring starts last
and winter dies the slowest

i can show you a heaven
that soothes an ancient soul
if you know where to look
if i wish to be seen
if i choose for you to find me


Goodbye, Dallas

i had three two-step partners:
a shy man who fled
a salsa dancer who salsa’d
and a tall cowboy

the cowboy and i talked a long while
about marrying too young
dostoevsky and st. petersburg
and why the texas sky
seems bigger than ohio’s

and oh how we danced!

fast fast
s l o w s l o w

we twirled
in the glitter
of forced intimacy
known only in honky-tonks

he asked to come back to my hotel
for just one night
so he could read “white nights”
and make me waffles

don’t take it too bad,
i just came to dance
but i like a man who
gracefully accepts rejection

fast fast
s l o w s l o w