Stepping Stone (Poetry)

A foot crunches down
upon my stony head
and stays for maybe a moment.

It is a woman's;
the boot is delicate.

I treasure the weight
like I would gold,
even as it forces me down.
Down into the quick,
quick running river,
which spits and scrapes
and slides and gnaws
and growls and claws
against my stony head.

And that is all.
I'll resurface soon.

Pill (Poetry)

I'm nothing:
a man
made of child;
a sage
made of whispers;
a pill
too bitter.

The Devil in the Glass (Poetry)

Demons never eat -
they only drink,
and always deeply.

Poem Problems (Poerty)

When did poet
become prophet?

When did poem
become stone?

Why should I
have to cry?

When did we become exorcists?

An Apathetic Ode (Poetry)

Your appearance,
personality, and problems
are average. Completely.

I have no interest
in any single aspect
of anything about you.

Alcohol is the only way
that I will ever
get an erection.

But it'll do:
I love you
more than the sofa.