Big Hand Broken


 i remember better times
and think very fondly
of when we connected

 but our time is short
our times seem shorter

 more distant
i remember how
good things come to mind
but i pay none
to splintered peace

i take this piece back with me
retreat again

JD- This poem is for someone that I used to think about a lot. I don’t talk to them anymore but they still hold a special place in my heart. 

© 2019

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glass bottles on shelf
Photo by Davide Baraldi on

i sneak up on me
upend myself
defend this nobody to no one

i feel infected
i feel wrong
and what i feel is what i’m running from

bad connection
missed you back there
going through a dark patch
but now i’m all clear
and now it’s all me
and i’m happy to see that
time hasn’t been a passage
worth consideration

i missed too many words
and now i’m struggling
playing catch-up
with nobody
for no one

my feet are aching
my arms are sore
and i’ve never been this fucking tired before

and it feels good to burn
when you’re all alone
i just want to stay warm
i just want to go home

JD- It’s that feeling you get when you’re pretending to be somebody you’re not for no reason.


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Words Can Kill


woman in purple sweater covering her face
Photo by Designecologist on

preen you
from he
art of darkness
we’re cut from the same cloth
feathers of the same flock

locked into boorish
shock and awe
my chorus
if words can kill
crack this barrel open
reload it

can’t relax
each attack
strikes back
fire brands me
too bad

we’re way past damaged
keep you on my tongue
bite you with my hands
i’m the best bridge you’ve had
the pleasure of burning down
thunderous reverb
when bad words sound bad

stay inside
retry yourself
put them in a vice
then leave them in a trance
i’ve never had the pleasure
to finish what i’ve started
next time
you see me
i’ll be a part of you
i promise


adjective: resembling or befitting a rude or insensitive person

JD- vitriol





silhouette photo of black sailing ship
Photo by Tino Schmidt on

wherever you may be
or lonesome

 recount these words
to bring yourself good fortune:
“our will is as the ward does
we commit ourselves to purpose
our words will be a promise
so long as each is honest”

may your firelight burn bright
may the lanterns lead you home
we’re all ships at sea
you see
in search of Avalon

may your purpose find you
may you find your peace

 every piece of me pines too
but all i want
are things i don’t need


noun literally meaning “the isle of fruit (or apple) trees”. A legendary island featured in the Athurian legend. Avalon was associated from an early date with mystical practices and figures such as Moran le Fay. It is traditionally identified as the former island of Glastonbury Tor

JD- I wrote this piece as a charm for good luck and hope.

© 2018

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Home of the Knave

Part 2 of “Invocation Implied” 

flag of america
Photo by Todd Trapani on


i’m alive
i’m alive
i’m alive
i’m alive in 2005
i lied
i died then i went back in time

1776: that’s where i exist
birthplace of a nation
bad situation
jefferson’s quill
never meant to ink this
do you think that time can be salvaged?
i hope for a lot of things
dumb luck is not one of them
surrender pen for gun again
better than stumbling
in shoes of some other men

gatling pun
trigger finger
mysterious cowboy
undead ringer
hot tempered gunslinger
slick on the draw
scratch musket balls
full english carom
ricochet off ribs to break your phalanges
carpal tunnel boring
trigger warning:
keep your discipline where your wrist is
flick of mine own
you’ll remain suspended
inanimate pupils
iced so cool
eyes sink titanic

triple sek amerikan
kannot relate
subsumed by the purpose under which all abates
i don’t destroy
i only create
instruments of fortune
forge unreal estate

noun a stroke in which the cue ball strikes two balls successively. 

JD- This poem is part 2 of “Invocation Implied” 

© 2019

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Invocation Implied

Part 1

Invocation Implied Poem

course correction
29 years past its prime
i scream at the sky
i scream at myself
after i die
i keep screaming for help

it’s everything else
and no one but me
i scramble for clarity,
retreat when defeated,
and come to my knees
when i can’t stand my being

i fester in dreams
and bleed my mind dry
cocooned in the scriptures
of pharaohs benign

i’m all out of time
i open my eyes
recursive immortal
impossible child

adjective characterized by recurrence or repetition.

JD- This poem is about a man who is cursed to be reborn every time he dies, but he wakes up each time further in the past. 

© 2018

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This  poem was inspired by nightmares.


dreams slow
amorphous black

celestial hands
rupture this fragile firmament
our pale sky leaks
nefarious black

first crack
a thousand bleeding pinhole eyes
puncture this flimsy veil
each streaks mill
lambent yellow
drowns the ants below

moon drops
second crack
dome shatters-
after this exists none

yet every direction is unlocked
every detail tickles

a garden of tongues
caress this violated crown
laps its meridian
mangles its meaningless fangs
in the fickle fabric
then tears it all away

inside shrink the diminutive soul
that folds into infinity
and eats itself whole

noun the heavens or the sky, especially when regarded as a tangible thing.

© 2019

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