I've been to thebitter, dark placewhere dreams aredecorations indilapidated houses,a building haunted bythe ghosts of spring.I tasted the wine ofwhores and convictsthere.I've prayed with thebroken and wasted.I spentdays and months,almost forever withthe feral men andwomen of America inhomes not...

My friend asksme where I getthe fodder forwriting my poems.I tell him, life.He says that's toosimple.He isn't satisfied.I tell him thatsometimes, I sit atmy desk and openthe window above thelitterbox, and lookoutside at theorange daylilies andwait.He says he writesfrom...

Thought reading,in a Sunday morning lightRed Dragon book in handAnd coffee mug on the stand, as a soldierServing quick bullet shots of caffeinOn my command.I couldn't stop thinking ofThe visionary lines of BlakeAnd the macabre of Lecter.Pearl Jam blasted...