These poems are for Kush


Midnight Song

I cannot stand to let you see my face

I cannot give you one last embrace

You know how it is for you

The old is dead Let’s bring out the new

I know we thought it was fate

But we ended early what we started late

So long my dear sometimes it is fun

But now it is over and truly done

But then you had to give me one last call

I was a proud man but even angels have  to fall

So now I trudge back alone to my place

And I guess honey you will never see my face

N N Nuh N N Nuh, N N Nuh, N N Nah

2015 - 1




Ergo Sum

Sometimes a psychotic  poet

Often a stubborn scientist

Occasionally paranoid paramour

Mostly laid back lay man

In time mature man

Pastly beautiful boy

Currently confused cynic

Addicted worshiper of words

Morbidly down depressed

Optimistic opportunist


war is a business

war is a business and we all are businessmen

who pay taxes to fund it

who cheer the men who deliver

and mourn the men who fail

war is ugly business yall

but we have writers and poets and artists

to turn ugly into glory for recruitment

we have the science, the technology and mathematicians

to help your kill ratios go up

war is a necessary but horrible business

best left to professionals

while we sit in the movie hall

and pass the popcorn

when not passing judgement   clint-eastwood

blame and praise

blaming a British person for colonial empire

is just as logical as praising them for the genius of The Beatles

blaming an American for the things their government

is just as logical as praising them for inventing the Internet

blaming a Chinese for the corruption of the communists and cruelty in Tibet

is just as logical as praising them for inventing gunpowder


is often an accident of birth

is rarely a choice

so is religion

we walk on the shoulders of giants

and crawl in the shadows of the cravens

who came before us



hope endures



rich people who think the poor didnot try hard enough

people in government who think people not in government are too slow

spies who refuse to have a conscience because they sold their soul

soldiers who hurt civilians because violence always feels good to the giver

writers who write for money because they hit the big time

journalists who play the game because they like the fame

musicians who sell out for all that jazz

middlemen and brokers and all those who stand in between the creators and the public


just my opinion

no offence

nothing so dangerous

there is nothing so dangerous

as a suicidal pilot

as a broke hacker

as a cold painter

as a hungry poet

there is nothing so dangerous

than a samurai whose master died in an incident

than a lonely man with access to the internet

than people who have lied and have nothing to lose

than children grown up porridge of hate and blood

there is nothing so dangerous

as a horny nuclear scientist

as a drunk divorced analyst

as an idea whose time has come

as a group of anonymous people who refuse to be caught

nothing so dangerous

as the vendetta of fallen angels

as the hubris of scorned humans

as a revolution  that refuses to play by historic rules

as a situation that cannot be predicted because it was improvised

and so it seemed

on hindsight


aint that right

and she finally smiled


Screenshot from 2015-01-23 21:10:15