Music’s Lost Redemption


She said she only listened to dead singers to make herself sound edgy

He took an overdose of her belief to try to catch her ear

But she fell for the jockey with his top rolled down that made her sing his tune


Magical Valentine’s roses stitching apathetic hearts to half-assed commitments of forced social straight jackets


Widow’s casserole and funeral sandwiches

Bless your heart secrets told with the breath of sweet tea

Faded capes

I’m choking on my lack of


Concerned about being worthy

Of being remembered beyond my chronology

Stuck in the rut of pointless regrets

Clawing at the self deprecation

As if self loathing is as critical as a mosquito bite

Or as crucial as picnic potato salad

Lover’s Truth

What gift can I give you that holds my heart to yours?

Let’s see how deeply we fall together before no lines divide us

Let’s connect our breath to heal the world

Let’s unite long enough to speak the elemental languages

Return where your tribal heart drums rhythmically

To that place where time meets juicy fleshy extravagance

Hold on with all you’re becoming

Birthed in the darkest roots

churned with flourishing mossy tendrils embraced

In your breasts

Scrubbing away the shadows

That leave stains upon the floors

Adorn your flowing crown of silver with constellations of ginger stars

Surrender half-mast head hanging shame

Raise your chin your power reclaim

Pound your soapbox pulpit with the revivalists fervor

Radical revolutionary revulsion of state sanctioned murder

The Altar

I don’t want to be God’s regret,

I know I’m already mine

The conversations I have with myself

are no longer kind

They admonish me of my failures

point out how I could always do more

They ridicule my insecurities

taking me its prisoner of war