West By God

Wild, Wonderful,

West Virginia.

Beautiful state.

Lovely place.

I live my life

in this mountainous haven,

day to day,


the trees turn in autumn,

the bud in spring,

shroud in summer.

Winter set in some time ago.

October was blustery,

November was wet,




now March.

all the stunning snow.

It fell,

it wafted,

it blew,

it sailed,

it covered,

it melted,

it returned again and again.

I think I’ll move to Florida,

and watch West Virginia on TV.



Who Am I?

i feel like,

i’m not sure.

the words just aren’t there.


maybe just an ephemeral spirit

in an etherial plane of quasiexistence



sort of a plasma

inside a plasma.


it’s not so much i’m scattered,

more like fuzzy at the edges.

like a pencil drawing

erased and smeared at the borders.


just a few months ago,

i was apathetic.

but vehemently apathetic.

i could scream

i don’t care.


now i’m just kind of

apathetically apathetic.


i can’t say who i am,

i’m not even sure what i am.



This Morning


Bleary eyed.

The sun streaming in the window,

Wakes me with its warmth.

I’m dragging,


Much to do,

But bored to tears.

My neck is sore,

and my back aches.

The children won’t be here this weekend,

they are snowed in.

I want to be excited,

to feel alive,

so long as there isn’t much effort to it.

Amuse me.

Something happen, please.

My God,

I’ve become lazy,


Brain dead.

I think I must have gotten old last night.



Her Emblazoned Mane

I do not know her name,

nor dare I ask it.

I have laid eyes this night

on the most enchanting hue of blaze,

to ever cross man’s field of vision.

These magic, curling locks,

could belong to none

save a Celtic lass

of purest spritely blood.

And I have no doubt

that she is of the race

that so enchanted Odyseus, Hercules,

and Sinbad of lore.

Nor would I swear

that she is not in fact the very one,

the selfsame siren

whose enrapturing spell was cast

so very long ago.

To ask her name,

by legend her most intimate possession,

would be to risk,

to gamble,

perchance to shatter,

the very sorcery

to which I cling.





A stone idol

to the goddess Life.

Hard.  Unforgiving,

Enslaved by a diety

he adores but cannot touch.

She waits for his worship,

Worship he can no longer give.

She yearns for his passion,

Passion he cannot possess.

She longs for his kisses,

Kisses that are but stone.

And she listens for his heartbeat,

But it does not.

In her unnecessary enslavement

of her one true disciple,

She has enslaved





Why do you hate me,

and threaten me with Hell,

when my only wish

is to strive to do my best?

I desire but to live free,

exert myself to my fullest potential,

and die well,

as any mortal should.

Do you find my rejection

of your brand of mythology

so offensive,

that you simply can’t see me?

Is there an almighty god

who claims his hand is just

that denies all that I stand for

all that is free

all that is beautiful,

all that is true and fair

because I don’t follow his liturgy?

And because I despise solitude,

Because I shall not starve myself,

And because of my love for woman,

Am I doomed to eternal torment?

Is this then

what he calls justice?

Is this fair or true?

Can this be beauty?

Will equity condemn the young,

the ignorant,

the sweet of soul,

for not reciting the proper words?

If this is what your god proposes,

then I must needs pass judgement,

on the arrogant,





of your god,

and give pity to his lonely soul.



The Labor

Lou FCDFor five days,

and five nights,

I have toiled to the brink of exhaustion.

Sweat has poured

in buckets from my skin.

My mind has raced

and twisted and turned.

Blood has dripped

from my battered fingers.

And tears have flowed

from my bloodshot eyes.

My unseen foe,


has pushed me to the edge,

and I am weary to the bone.

My body shakes in fatigue,

and I feel I can continue no longer.

Were there a god

upon whom I could call

I believe I would be tempted

to pray for merciful Death.

I would be hard pressed

not to beg for her comfort,

her solace,

her rest.

But for now my race is over,

my work is done,

my toil now suspended.

I sit before my computer screen

and let escape a gasp of relief.

Thank God,

there is no school on weekends.