words alive and dying as they come

featured in the poetry forum June 30, 2017  :: 0 comments

sight cannot
initially be trusted

deny anything
that can be

as easily as by

the lifting
of a lid

visions are

matter entirely
subject everyone

to these immediately
make the night taste

of ad-lib and
orange liqueur

make trees grow
make orchards of

scratches and stardust
and marvels and blood

trace an elephant
on my back

in the infinite

make death
gasp and light

sing with your
eye-lash kisses

and your pomegranate

make words
in my throat

living and dying
as they come

i love you
i love you

i love you
as they come

editors note:

If not words, then gestures and grunts. Such saying must be said somehow. – mh clay

hopeless hope until we are a land

featured in the poetry forum November 20, 2016  :: 0 comments

of no land
i plant

jo-joba in con-
centric circles

around the latrine

the rats hate it
and it sells

well to the upper-class
sometime last week

after the tea-party and
before the free-dead risers

the kids all got the cough
and i felt the air begin to die

we started what they’ve named
the dryland march

bivouacked i carry water
for three

and teach them to sing
the dream songs

we talk about shade-heaven
and the peacefulness of bridges

how much our teeth hurt
and why we love it

right before it rains
we get to stop

await the spark
and life can catch and gather

mostly i try
to help everyone

editors note:

Yes! Just the balm we need for the rash time. Thanks, Paul! – mh clay

I wanted you to have something beautiful for coming so I wrote this this morning for you

featured in the poetry forum September 12, 2015  :: 0 comments

We got together and nothing happened
We plugged in and it felt like father of porcelain and mother of pearl
The night fell as a fine blue dress
I wore make-up or blushed
The monk who found champagne by mistake laughed – yelling –
find a virtuous PERSON because their price is far above rubies
I danced my genitals off
My gavel hit the floor
Judges flinched
All the flags burned themselves because inclusion is spelled with multiple eyes
Search warrant ash filled the air like a balloon race
Spock came out in search of spontaneous combustion
Leonard Nimoy whispered in my ear
It happened fast and slow and not at all till it happened all at once
Lake Worth turned upside-down and rained bomber’s tears
Humans talked
Pens refilled with the ball point ink of our most furious anger
writing letters of safe passage irreducible mirth Mother Teresa allegories open wormholes to Utopia and cool clean feather beds
for the restless never rest till the course is run
Our words were sharp and beautiful as Pam Grier in Coffy with razors razors razors in her hair
And her lips were like a graveyard and her hair was like the sun
We got together
We got together and nothing happened
We got together and nothing happened here tonight but flying carpets
Flying carpets of acceptance and love

editors note:

This is more nothing than I can handle in a night. Deeeelicious! – mh clay


November 26, 2014  :: 0 comments

the first words my first wife
ever said to me in person were,

“hi, this is Victor he is my boyfriend-slash-pimp
and he will be in the adjoining room
if there are any problems”.

she actually said, “boyfriend-slash-pimp”
and i was impresed by her use of the
word adjoining and her bottom and how
the green of her eyes didnt seem to have one.

three years later,

leaning against the bathroom sink in my
apartment with a grapefruit knife sticking
out of my thigh like an old telephone pole
on a flat and hairy stretch of road,

i laughed.

and i sweated and i looked for some peroxide or rubbing
alcohol and i hoped i wouldnt pass out on the way to the
hospital and that my new couch wouldnt be permanently stained.

but most of all i thanked god i had dressed to the right
that day and that my thigh had taken one for the team.

and i dont know if it was the blood loss but i really wondered,
waiting forever in the ‘care-now’ clinic, if i would ever be able

to love again.

then she walked in, my nurse, my angel,
looking like a strippergram or the devil’s sister.
with a tetanus shot in one hand and
my thigh in the other. she possessed the all-time best
sad-bad-broken, love-at-first-sight-i-cant-resist-you,
look in her eye. really. ever.

the first words my second wife (the nurse)
ever said to me in person were,

“wow, would-ya look at that”

and i told her my story.

and she told me hers.

and love springs eternal in the hearts of us still
even when it walks with a limp

sometime after one

November 26, 2014  :: 0 comments

“license and registration”
i had been speeding – to catch me
she had been speeding too
her hair was brown and her face

was dirty as the moon “license and proof of registration, please”- her skin smelled like skittles as she stared at my crotch like a ghost

through the window i thought i heard her vagina say – i want your chin don’t shave i like it scratchy – and her gun swung like a nipple and her flak

jacket pushed against me like a love swing or a tear – step out of the car and come with me – i said – i’d like to make you come more – as she frisked

me she replied – you know that wasn’t what i meant – i followed her to the motel 8 her eyes were green her hair was down the coin operated

bed was off off white and it was broken i was out of quarters anyway
her mirrored sunglasses watched us
from the nightstand i puked on the

carpet which could take it and had obviously seen worse when she handcuffed me to the bed frame and stuck a finger up my ass i was sixteen again and afraid she unlocked

the cuffs and told me to fuck her up the ass i wished we could have shared some drinks and eaten first
she drew her service revolver and

ordered me to fuck her up the ass
i did and i asked her name and if i
could see her again – she gave me
a ticket for speeding instead

the sun is a secret legend in the dark

featured in the poetry forum November 26, 2014  :: 0 comments

on nowhere’s edge
the blinds let in

a runner
of moonlight

like some old movie
we forgot we loved again

the deep regularity
of your breathing

tells me you
may really be asleep

our neighbors are

branches on windows
and tongues

against the gin
writing and writing

i am numb with
silent noise

you roll in
to me

and i
am lost

editors note:

In the mid of night, the sun is only a story. A warm body is real. – mh

that one night

featured in the poetry forum April 30, 2014  :: 0 comments

her name was aoife
and I met her jumping
between two
abandoned beers
and a gypsy homeless transient
semi-retired accordion player
who was selling
“ask me about my squeeze box”
at a gogol bordello concert
aoife said the gypsy
looked like boris the blade
or oliver reed
in a wig and a blender

i knew then
it was love at first wit
her fish – my shoes
sole mates from the start
beer goggles securely fastened
body slamming
gently into the night-

when the song
“start wearing purple”
ran past us as a chance or
a mugger in an apartment with
thin walls

i began hoping
she lived close

& the mosh pit felt like
a walnut

& my hoodie
smelled like a beer

shoving hard
the elbow turned

turned turned turned
in to me
all combat boots & combat ass
so nearsoscented
ramen noodles & pheromone

wearing a sunflower hairpin & an angel’s neck if angels borrowed the necks of swans on the planet she was from

with her nose ring
did i mention she had a nose ring?
with her nose ring –
aoife’s nose ring
coming ever closer
daring me
to kiss her —

a wastrel in cubic zirconium
pushing and
pulling and
pushing and
to the pulse of a rabid accordion

then she bit me –


whispered in my bloody ear

“start wearing pink”

and that one night
was ireland to me

editors note:

Everyone craves to be pretty in pink; waits for that whisper in the ear… – mh

drink me in the morning
be gone by the afternoon
sing me guy clark’s
dublin blues by the time
they light the moon (spoon)

featured in the poetry forum February 5, 2014  :: 0 comments

they told me to put down
exactly what i meant. more
flowers should be midnight
blue in a sea of emerald green.
bring me a beautiful brunette
with motel keys and a heart
like conan the barbarian
standing on the snake king’s
marble steps amidst a sea
of flame. bring me the head
of god he seems like the kind
willing to make a sacrifice.
close the gap. kiss me and
hold me near while i whisper
in your ear “everything you’ve
ever needed to be great is already
inside you.” i am an ever circling
satellite. poetry is the signal
i receive. bring me exactly what
i mean.

editors note:

Meaning without meanness when “what you don’t mean can’t hurt ya!” – mh


featured in the poetry forum December 14, 2013  :: 0 comments

magic seems
as a description
for a thing
i can still taste and
orbiting my soul
runaway seraphim
devil dogs
sparrows and eagles
and gypsies
and such
we saw
a music stand
bow it’s stoic head
and jazz-soaked trumpets
blush from silver to red
as an opal translated
the last lost language
of god
and a man
the walls of jericho
money and road-trips
chapbooks and rubies
and sackcloth
and trust
like the beauty
in an alabama hug
and in the night
and the word
by no one
who wasn’t there and then
by no one who will ever
believe us anyway

editors note:

The children of god bebopped ’round Canaan, jazz warriors, all? Nope, I don’t believe it either. – mh


March 23, 2013  :: 0 comments

is a stranger inside me

look away

please, look away
and i

dis appear

but the stranger

like a brand new gallon

of cold cold milk
going bad anyway