New Friends

18 12 2017

New Friends



17 12 2017


the book



Spade meets the fatman

1 10 2016

Spade meets the fatman

smile slash’d spade’s face.
laughter gargled through the fatman’s
“the black bird fills the heart
with need, buries young
boys under dead leaves,
molests virgins in naked sleep,
shakes the voice that soothes the soul,
is the world spent, the word mute,
time stilled and waiting…”
outside there was a crash
both men turned. the door flew
open. the wind fell inside.

download The Black Bird

The Maltese Falcon, one of my favourite films and books, is the core of this book. The Black Bird is about celebrity. About the self. Lost in the layers of masks, the actor, the role, the husband, the man.



23 07 2016


Another piece from my upcoming (if i ever get off my ass and finish) graphic like novel called “Property”.


20 07 2016

Another pic from my upcoming graphic novel “Property”



18 07 2016


a piece from a new novel I’ve been working on called “Property”.


Baltimore Catechism

20 04 2016

Baltmore Catechism

When I read T. S. Eliot, I wrote like T. S. Eliot. Yet I did not how he wrote. I wanted to think like Ferlinghetti. And act like Henry Miller. I had heroes. As poets. I wanted to sing like my uncle Tom. Who wanted to sing like Hank Williams. This book of poems was written with the seriousness of youth. As if I was trying to break into a safe. Containing national secrets. And finding out that someone had been there before me.



Crowd Noises

15 04 2016

Before I began to listen. In my younger days. I ranted. Invited into small spaces. Where my nose was rubbed in my words. Listened to my fellow poets. Bleed. Black. And wondered if I heard an echo. Or was everyone crazy. These were the Crowd Noises.

Read now Crowd Noises


The Saints of Jazz

10 04 2016

They began their careers in small clubs. And cat houses. In choirs. And minstrel shows. They were applauded. Made famous. At times they were loved. They made a lot of money and spent it. On booze. On drugs. On men. And became famous. Some died in small rooms without family. Some in the arms of their children. They were all different. They were the Saints of Jazz. And they loved to sing.


Saints Cover for SmashwordsNov8

Thoughts on a Stormy Night

27 03 2016

Anger and humor. Burning like a furnace in my head. The year my mother died. Poems from my tumor.

Thoughts on a Stormy Night

thoughts on a stormy night LARGE