Poem 3

It’s all so quiet if you let everything be

Comfortably lost, comfortably cold


Breathe out

Loss next to me


Like a rain cloud

Lost at sea


One’s eyes close, directionally

Looking for a shadow, frantically

For one ounce of privacy


Time’s always the one

Twisting the knife in me


A castle of unbreakable bones

Some emotional austerity

Blood boiling for all life could be


Surrender, unconditionally

To a warm simplicity

Remain adrift like the gaze

Of the dark unlit eyes

That you’ve come so far to see

Squid (Part 1)

Your mind wanders as if time itself slows down when you’re deep below the sea. The cool, unlit water is really all I’ve had to know. I feel so tired, so complacent and invisible with the life I’ve led. There’s nigh but the surface calling me on. I’ve spent years dreaming about what it is like up there, above the water, in the sky, on the land.

Like a bullet fired underwater, the squid burst towards the surface. The water looked brighter and clearer and the squid’s skin became more opaque, more visible, as it neared the surface. The behemoth of a cephalopod, maybe two hundred and twenty pounds, or seven feet long, not counting its stretched appendages, was the size of a large man.

The warmer water feels unnatural, almost poisonous, but it’s too late to turn back. My eyes are on fire from the light. I can’t take it anymore. There’s a shadow, I must press into it.

Crazed by the warmth, by the light, by the new senses and new life, the squid roared up and through the shadow, the hull of a small boat. The squid’s tail crashed right through the wooden boat, like a spear through flesh, throwing one person overboard, and the other off their feet. The woman shrieked and was trembling at the sight of the hulking creature. She could feel its coldness, its strangeness, its closeness, and her vulnerability.

I feel the pains of warmth, the dryness of death. This was a mistake. I’m a fool. Surely I will die. What is this fragile creature? Cowering before me, like a lost fish. Get away, go home!

The squid flailed its appendages, the woman screamed, the boat began to sink, and just before it went under the squid propelled them towards the shore as it lay off of the back of the little boat like a motor. They sped across the water and in just a bit of time, they gently slid into the shore.

It cannot be. I’m alive. It is not as painful as before. The burning, the suffocation, it is all going away.

The squid stood upside down, it’s appendages on the ground and tail in the air, and began to walk not unlike a spider towards the houses of the town just ahead. It crawled more and more gracefully until it practically seemed to float above its tentacles that flowed with such automation. The squid approached an occupied home with lit windows and laughter coming from inside. It peered inside from the back patio.

What is this? Life in a box, not unlike the one’s in a tub on the sea. I did not much mind her, the screaming woman, but clearly she minded me. My reflection in the glass, I’m not so different than them, am I? Perhaps I should live in a box too. Are we not all in a box, one way or another?

The squid began to swipe and fumble its dried appendages against the window, making a sound that disturbed the home’s inhabitants. A man approached the window, slightly startled by the sounds he had never heard before. As he approached from the side, the squid pushed through the window with three of its appendages and grabbed the man by the throat, muting his cry and dragging him outside quickly before he could struggle. The starving squid forced the man to the ground and began pecking at him, gnawing his flesh bit by bit, now with all of its appendages constricting, suffocating, and muting the man.

It would have eaten me if I did not eat him first, or at least have shouted and given me away. All I need are his clothes, and I’ll be fine, just like them. Safe from the heat, the cold air too, and the painful textures of the grounds and walls.

The squid dressed itself in the man’s clothes. Jeans and a simple, dull purple t-shirt. Content with its new outfit, its new layer of camouflage, the squid lifted itself through the window and gently massaged, flowing tentacle one after another, down the kitchen sink and stood right in the kitchen.

I’m as complete as I’ll ever be. A squid in a box, imagine that? This is my home now. I’ll go to work, I’ll have a family, I might even go and float on the sea like they do. 

Poem 2

Slow, swaying steps on the ocean front

I won’t lie to you,

I won’t lie to you.

A word can’t be kept from unearthing itself

Something beautiful, sensual and poisonous

Like polluted sand between your toes

Can’t we wait here a while?

In the moments we spend waiting

With our golden skin underneath the sun

Death is all around us.

There’s nothing left to feel

In a monotonous pulse

Slow, swaying steps on the ocean front

You don’t have to listen, but I won’t lie to you.

Morning Hymn For the Good Children of the Academy (from work in progress, The New Abyss)

The things that matter wouldn’t look back when you called their names.

Archways in gently broken meadows of matted grass are all you see

As you walk backwards through familiar games and in the end

Everyone and everything is doused in the same dissolving flame.

Sail your sinking ship. Sail it out to the deepest seas and whisper something pretty,

Vapid, and hollow for the birds to gnaw with their gleeful beaks,

Celebrate the beginning of the end like you were born anew and feel

The thunderous roar of tides like the bloodlust of crowds in the arena of old

Smash upon the sides of your gutted ship. Awaken and become waves

Like the destroyers whose tremors have fed and clothed the lucky,

The indestructible, and the clever children of the New Abyss.

Challenge Accepted: A Zip to Remember

Just a foreword: this is meant to be all in good fun and was written as a challenge from the following prompt:

“So what if the human female is a young evangelical woman who works at this museum, and the dinosaur is in fact one of the models, who comes to life at night, and they have a clandestine relationship?”

The sun had nearly set against the pinkish sky and charcoal clouds when Shelly looked out the Creationism Museum window. The outdoor zip line stood erect in a portrait of the setting sun. It had been a long and rigid day, nearly dusk, with every model and décor in its usual place. The Garden of Eden, Adam, and Eve harmoniously nestled with the dinosaurs of times past.

Something’s not quite right, Shelly thought, as she glanced through one of the spectacular exhibitions of the soaring, proud ancestors of the American bald eagle, the original bird of prey, the pterodactyl. A shriek from outside and an empty station where it had ought to have been. No, it couldn’t be, could it? Shelly thought. I must be dreaming.

Shelly walked back to the window. Another shriek from outside and the glimmer of a great, scaly bird standing atop the zip line calling hither, hither. I shouldn’t, she thought, as she eyed the bird through the lulling pink hues of the setting sun.

Her footsteps carried her weightlessly through the museum and out the door towards the zip line. By the time she had gotten to the top of the hill, the bird was gone. She felt weak in the knees from her hazy trek and barely knew how she had gotten there. I guess I can take the zip line back down. I am tired. She thought.

She strapped herself in and took one leap forward off of the ground with her legs spread and feet wailing. Just as she left the ground, another shriek seared from above, and the pterodactyl was soon upon her. First, a chilling finger upon her shoulder, then another upon her neck, slowing time still like ice as she rode the zip line with the bird of prey inching his way around her body.

Shelly tried to make a sound, any sound, but felt the bird’s fingers slowly swipe across her chest, cutting right through the shoulders of her dress. The dress fell, leaving her pale breasts exposed to the cold, rushing night air. Again, she tried to make a sound but her voice was tethered to some inescapable place.

The pterodactyl’s fingers gripped Shelly’s neck gently but securely as he rolled his tongue across the angle of her neck and mouth, sloshing and sucking, sending a jolt of euphoria through Shelly’s spine. The pair continued to drift down the buzzing zip line, the pterodactyl’s lower legs creeping slowly down Shelly’s belly and still sloshing her neck.

We’re going to crash right into the ground! Shelly thought, still in a haze, but conscious of the impending landing at the far end of the zip line. The pterodactyl’s feet began to swipe and tear at Shelly’s waist, tearing bits of cloth from what was left of her dress and panties. Shelly reached to hold the shreds of cloth to her waist, but it was futile. The pterodactyl’s fingers tightened around her neck.

“Hold on” said the pterodactyl as they neared the end of the line. Shelly did not trust the predatory bird with its fingers around her neck and feet clawing at her waist, trying to undress her on the zip line. But would she rather fall, or see what the bird had in mind? She thought. Shelly took a small leap of faith and quickly hugged the pterodactyl before they fell. The bird of prey soared off in a lateral vector and then up into the sky with light flaps of its gliding wings. Shelly’s feet were dangling as she held on for not only her life, but what was becoming some excitement to see where this relic of a scaly bird was taking her. Shelly muscled what momentum she could and swayed to lift herself on to the back of the pterodactyl, but losing the remains of her clothing in the process.

The rushing, cold night air kept Shelly’s bare nipples of her ample, pale breasts erect as the pterodactyl glided in an orbit around the Creationism Museum. Shelly’s sensibly trimmed public hair formed a triangle over her vagina, which was slightly more plump than usual from being confined to the harness and her panties, though such details could not be farther from her spirit.

One window of the museum was still open with its blinds contorting with the wind. Shelly’s eyes were closed and she felt at peace soaring above the ground, the toils of the day a distant memory. No more visitors to guide, no more exhibits to clean, no paperwork to do, everything was behind her and she felt only bliss.

The pterodactyl swooped downward and Shelly hugged him close to duck the edge of the window. They cleared right through and the pterodactyl landed softly the nest exhibit that Shelly had noticed it missing from. As the bird stood up right, Shelly fell backwards right into the soft hay of the nest, calm but full of zesty pleasure.

“Do you know the best part of being a pterodactyl, Shelly?” Asked the scaly bird. “No. Is it that you can fly?” said Shelly. “Close, but not quite.” The bird stepped closer to Shelly so that he stood directly over her. He removed his stylish, Mesozoic loin cloth to reveal, to Shelly’s delight, a biblically correct, throbbing, dino-cock. The pterodactyl raised its wings and shrieked with its cock erect. Startled briefly but not taken aback, Shelly pounced upon the dino-cock eagerly. She twisted it gently with both hands and swathed the tip with her tongue.

After a few minutes, the pterodactyl shrieked again and flapped its wings once to send a rush of wind that pushed Shelly back upon the nest of soft leaves and straw. The pterodactyl opened its mouth to boast a long and agile serpent’s tongue, pronged at the tip. Shelly’s still-plump and tender vagina pulsated with a volcanic energy as the pterodactyl stepped close and began to massage and mop and lather her clitoris with the ferocious cooperation of each prong of his tongue.

Shelly moaned with a sordidly high pitch that she had no control over. The pterodactyl’s tongue was too intense. She pulled him close and said “Fuck me like a dinosaur.” For what seemed like half an hour but was really three hours, the pterodactyl and Shelly romped like missionaries, like the dogs of missionaries, the cattlemen and women of missionaries, and all those that came before them. Just as the sun had begun to rise new, the pterodactyl shot his dinosaur-load in line after line across Shelly’s abdomen and breasts. Shelly closed her eyes and arched her back in embrace of the dino-spunk and in her satiated blur of consciousness opened her eyes to find the bird of prey gone and as extinct as ever. She went to get a mop to clean up all of the mess, humming a sweet song all the while.

Poem 1 (because I started over)

There were a dozen daydreams

In water that fills the molds of icons as they sit outside saying, “Where have the shadows of your eyes been? To look as tired as they do.”

You’ve never been what you seem to be, beneath the skies and empty

There’s no script telling the water where to flow. “Are you free, or are you not?” They said outside.


The ornithomimus curved its neck to glimpse at the resonating, pulsating glass of milk on the bar counter that gently bounced with the rhythm of a pounding lust.

“Don’t move. Remain calm.” The ornithomimus thought, but her heart only started to beat faster and fiercer, exhaling with a trusting resignation.

Another inhale during the quiet and an exhale at the closest and loudest thump yet.  The ornithomimus felt the footsteps against the ground like a war drum whose drummer kept coming closer and closer.

Just as the ornithomimus looked upward, the barroom ceiling was torn asunder by the encroaching jaw of the tyrannosaurus.

“Rawr” said the tyrannosaurus, with a devilish smirk. “I thought I’d find you here.” The scaly, hypnotic gaze of the tyrannosaurus practically stalled time itself as all of the chitter chatter and whispers and boasts of the other dinosaurs in the bar came to the sudden stillness.

The ornithomimus reared back, stood alert, and pounced upwards to gain a perch upon the remains of the sundered barroom ceiling. She now stood eye to eye with the tyrannosaurus and whispered something with the rapid contortions of her tongue.

The tyrannosaurus looked away, only for a second, as though taken aback, but then opened his jaw and presented his tongue, just the same. The ornithomumus reached out with her neck and wildly slurped and swathed the enormous tyranno-tongue with her more agile one.

The tyrannosaurus roared out in delightful rage. “What luck,” he thought, “she knows me too well.” As he roared and reared back, the ornithomimus hopped upon the back of his neck and clasped on as the tyrannosaurus stomped out into the wild, perhaps to find some privacy, all the while the chatter and clinks of glasses resumed as though nothing had happened in the barroom.

The convulsing glass of milk bounced with concentric circles gentler, and gentler, as the tyrannosaurus strode away.