An empty glass
in a barren wasteland of plenty
feeling like an old rusty car
in a weed stricken lawn
watching a seasonor two yawns by
streaked by a velvet cold sun,
watching rabbits
flee the last eggplant
in a garden of bones.

I’m wondering what happened
to the meadow of languid fall
to the log cabin, family now afar.
bolts falling like dripping icicles
as coyotes lack up what’s left
of a dried-up pond.

That old crow perched
upon a broken chain
of a porch swing
cawing apocalyptic
harmonies, wondering
when the world will end
and the freedom of
empty roads begin,
without society or rule,
will…

I live in a haunted castle
of madman laughter
telling me to write
write you damn fool
write before you become dust
before you become
just another cursed afterthought.

I live in a darkened forest
listening to wolves approaching
closer and closer
foreshadowing of bones
in an ancient altar
and you’ve become
what I’ve always feared
a shadowland
between dawn and twilight
god help me to find life within.

I live in an empty atom
whirling insults at dirty mirrors
shaving cream dripping
but who am I shaving for? …

We’re old souls
counting the stars of yesterday
trying to remember what we were
before time swept away our dust
waiting for the day,
a new earth rises
where shadows meet forms
where cave dwellers meet wanderers
in the house of the immortal poets.
Our hearts now faded
watching that ochre sun, jaded
along a stretched horizon
knowing it’ll come again. …

From what was once clear
as amorphous stained glass
is now as transparent
as wetlands reflecting that
ole tired face of grandfather time
regretting molded roses
love letters unopened
and answers never sent.
In the plumage of Rome
fungi wrap our tales untold,
delicate silver bells ever toll
in my mind’s cloudy eye.
For as the light penetrates
my dense ego foliage did we finally
unveil, matrix harmony in
symbolic matrimony between
observer and observed.
Those laws they did crack
the mind of an existential
thinking thing’s midnight bed,
nature is hidden from us so,
DNA spiraling staircases,
to hallways and worlds afar,
in both life and death,
her secrets hidden below
that to be sleep…

I know that all
life is impermanent
but it still hurts
to say goodbye
to unwrap,
erotic eyelashes,
spent at the sight of a goddess
lips. Reflecting grief
in heavy ghostly grins
upon the ponds of time,
as bullfrogs leap,
another century,
of unremitting valor. For what starts
must end, beholder of emotional order
must drop the mug into the floor
and pick up the pieces,
blood, bone, and cracked laws.
I know the ways of devils and gods
because there’s no difference
between heaven and hell
without self-love
and redemption planted above
in a sinner’s mind
neural dendritic shame burns
eternal malaise,
for how shall I begin to today,
when yesterday, is not buried? I know
what the bodhisattva means
I know the…

This poem is dedicated to my uncle Ronald Nordell. I hope you found peace in the clearing where the path ends. I love and miss you.

I.

He’s got the most wicked eye in the West

So, they say.

He has a hard poker face,
no need for the truth,
because only a foolish man,
He plays a fixed game straight.
You see, he used to live his life
by the deal of the cards.
He’d sit at a table of players,
and run them all dry.
He’s tough, untouchable.
The only man I’ve ever seen
to get a hand of aces and eights
and live…