Inconstant Man

Like the ebb and flow of rough water on fragile rock,
I am approached by Inconstant Man.

Growing and increasing,
we tackle the earth in a crushing bear hug,
squeezing our unforgiving morsels out of its green, giving life orb;
owing nothing, but lending all.

Lending all
because in some way
it will take it back.
We will want to take it back,
and nothing will be left but our memories,
Creeping and crawling through dank, dusty drawers
in our forsaken houses,
standing in burnt fields,
on an empty, estranged earth

which we sat on with our mind-numbingly dumb asses,
our shit spewing over and into crystalline rivers and brilliant forests.

Inconstant Man,
who once valued every grain of sand,
every molecule of supremely superior life,
Builds marring pockmarks upon the cherubic cheek of this planet.

We will fill the air and soil with our vomit
And claim we have
“done well” and
“changed lives” and
“lived successfully”.

But what is well, and changed, and lived
when what we leave is a small, stone-colored earth
in the midst of a universe of awe?

Our arrogant faces turn to numerous white bones,
Almost all the same besides our teeth,
but who will know when our dental records fade and fray with the rest of our civil society?

We are Inconstant Man and we consist of an inconsistency so inconceivably large, so insanely insatiable, that we are blind to our own inconstant
And that is the only thing that’s constant.



…And The Wind… (Originally Written March 10, 2010)

I am alone

in despair

collapsing beneath

the old Oak tree



where the lightening once hit it



No more

So I say to those around me

‘Let us be invisible together.’

And so,

    The wind takes me up on my feet,

and the Lord moves his hand

to wipe clean my slate.

And the smile I found,

The happiness, The peace,

is here, with me

…And the Wind…

The ghouls and ghosts

of celebrations passed,

are here, with me,

…And The Wind….

And as we dance

towards the darkness

I turn my smiling face

to look back on those

who on a summer’s day

must look back on me,

Cold stone above,

Coffin below

As I lay



No more

Beneath the Oak tree.

Now entombed

in green and gloss.

Those who laughed,

who turned away

Must now listen to my faraway laughter.

My laughter,

…And The Wind’s….


On a Misty Moor

"The Cliffside"


In the shadow o’ the moors

There’s a mystic wind

blowin’ round.

Shapin’ colors, shiftin’ wings

Bringin ’round all sorts o’ mysterious tings.

But somehwere

In the shadow o’ the snow

There’s rain.

The rain is shiftin’ too,

Beatin’ barrels cross your bow

Sendin’ birds and bugs a’driftin’

But through the trees it’s just a’siftin’.

And somewhere

In the shadow o’ the rain

there’s sun.

Spillin’ cross our soft moors

Feedin’ the plants

All the roses in a row

All the animals; an’ us.

Just watchin’ us a’grow.