With silent footsteps
On a heavy autumn
Lay a crackling sky,

Up above my head
Nothing but the blackest night
And rainbow neon,

Down below in sweat
Or perhaps it is the rain
Slick flesh float about.


I had a thought
Don’t these people hate the rain
Despaired by wetness,

But they have no choice
But live with this agony
And squirm out a life.


Tolerable life
Is dancing, eating, walking
All out on the streets,
All showcase themselves
Til they no longer exist
That is how it is.


Line dancing ladies
Trying to coordinate
With each other’s feet,

Off leash area
Made of stone and concrete
Dogs shitting about,

Oil drenched clouds wafting
Alerting empty stomachs
That have no money,

Like dead fish in ponds
People careen with the flow
Water reveals death.


Everyone knows this
That they will soon be sent off
To a slaughter house,

To feed the future
They give up their existence
That does not want them.


I cannot linger here
For I may fear the rain too
No one should be here.


In a foreign time
In the yellow stained ocean
I wake up I’m gone

I long for the white snow
Flakes gently making their way
In this tropical heat

The sun is setting
Behind hazy human excess
A dreary red plum

Along smooth black roads
Empty warehouses and signs
Where are the people
Someone is talking
But I don’t want to hear them
Basking in orange glow

Cranes lying still
Near hills of grey concrete homes
To build or destroy

Now oppressive blue
It smells like lingering ghosts
On this damned bus.


Not welcoming
Gold cover walls, floors, people
How did I get here?

Now eating beige food
I don’t remember eating
In an atrium.


Lying on the floor
Or maybe is this a bed
It is very hard
Is today today
Or is it yesterday
Am I really awake?


Now eating white food
I don’t remember eating
In a foreign hall.


Like snow on a lake
Or on the tree nearby
We go as we must

The snow on a lake
Dissolves away like water
Becoming the lake
The snow on the tree
Piles on and under other snow
Becoming the tree

No matter what we
No matter what we do here
We become some other.


Breezy afternoon
A yam stand by the main road
The old lady calls

In a foreign tongue
Hot yams here hot yams here hot
No one heeds her words

An hour later
The yam stand by the road left
As if never there

Warm dusk approaching
Children play on cement roads
Free of the shadows

Shadowless children
Do they wonder about yams
That never get sold.


A resort village
We were warned of playing games
In mythic mountains

School girl umbrellas
Bright dots drifting to somewhere
In the misty morn

Beset in heavy rain
We climb up holy mountains
In single file

Mist gently rolls by
Revealing and hiding
Outlines of distant gods

Rice and tiny fish
Sequestered in a small hut
Rain pours through jarred doors.


At 50 degrees
A metal belt carries me
Over corner stores

Gliding mid-level
There are clothes drying in the rain
Empty salon chairs

In a jarred windows
The sounds of a TV on
But no one’s watching

In closed windows
Curtains barely pulled over
A lonely smoker.


A misty lavender
Mixed with ripening yellow
Amongst green trees

I want to belong
Floating in somewhere open
In that blue ocean.


I don’t know what to do
Don’t know which way to go
If I should stay here

The sun came out
I wished that it would snow
Gently against skin

As soft petals of white
Float onto my palm
I wonder
Did it hear my cry

Am I so empty
Or am I so full

It is hard to tell
When the white petals
Turn into tears

Do I feel this way
Because the world
Feels deep blue

Where are you
Maybe it was just coincidence
Southerly wind
Stings my weary eyes
Forcing me to cry

On frozen ground
My downcast eyes
Forces itself open

For one second
All was a glowing white
Flowing all in front of me

What’s this white
That hurts my eyes
Why can’t I see

I just wonder
Why do I belong here
How did I get to be here

Will someone somewhere
One day read these unread words
And get to know that they
Aren’t alone after all

That somehow they
Were able to help someone
Somewhere when it mattered
Something meaningful
Where are you
Where were you
Where would you

You don’t seem here
Or even over there
Or anywhere

You seem stuck
Deep deep in some beige
In some deep white.


Is it a flying plane
Is it a lighthouse
Is it a signal
Is it a sea of light sticks
Is it a cop
Or ambulance or firetruck
Is it dancing lights?

some haiku from the book YOLKLESS