Retail Therapy

You break my heart and I shop for towels

Towels, of all things

I am sad, heartbroken, and hurt 

So, I search the internet until I can barely see straight

Until I find the perfect towels 

Then, I spend hundreds of dollars on fucking towels;

Woven towels

Plush towels

Patterns and plain

Towels made of the yarn spun from the hair of the Tibetan Yak 

That’s how I’m coping

With your rejection

Your judgement 

With your intolerable sense of superiority 

I press Confirm Order

I feel relief and peace rush over me like a river

In a moment’s time, I’m over you

I laugh at myself

More so, I laugh at you

Realizing that you truly rate somewhere between bathroom towels and a blow up foot bath 

Then I thank God you weren’t the Ferrari I’d imagined you to be 

Ol Bertha 

I have an old wooden rocking chair that’s held together by the grace of God

I call her Ol Bertha

The glue that once held her creaking joints in place has long since dried up, and has given her a crackly old voice

She’s rocked every baby in my family to sleep for two generations, and held me in familiar arms when she was the only comfort I could find

She has been a silent witness to the good and bad for over thirty years

Now that I’m alone

She’s an old friend…a time machine

We share memories over sweet iced tea

And secrets over whiskey 

There is something so comforting and familiar about my rocking chair

So much love and happiness caught up in the grain of her wood

That I’d sooner die than live without her

Life is funny that way, I guess

Of all of the people who’ve come and gone

I prefer Ol Bertha to them all 

Truth, In Short Messages, Found

You said goodbye to her, but you never said goodbye to me.

You said goodbye to her, but you never said goodbye to me.

You sonofabitch! 

I was 33 years in, and you said, “Goodbye,” to HER, but you never said it to ME. 

God, grant me the serenity… 

Your memory is the gift that keeps on giving. 

You’ve been gone for ages, yet I know you better now than before you left 

This world

And me

To clean up the mess. 

Your fucking whores

And bastard offspring. 

Your drugs

And your lies. 

I harbor no hatred for you

Because what I feel is so far beyond hatred

That it makes me feel as though my mind slips away into it

Like a warm bath. 

Were it only your blood to bathe in, I’d stay lost in the feeling 



You’re a fucking face punch
A fist driving your tired truths into my brain
Broken teeth bite into honest lips
Keeping them quiet forever
Unable to tell your secrets
Blood runs down my chest
Covering a heart that beat only for you
I lived, at your pleasure
And, now, I die with you
There is no morning that you do not ordain
No hope of a new day that you do not destroy
You are my terror that comes by night
You are the invisible hand around my throat
I hate you as much as I ever loved you
You monster

My love


I can feel them when they hit


Blowing my mind like a shot to the head

Suddenly, I’m swimming in the ideal

Frantically trying to catch up with you and the world you created 

Beautiful people all ’round

Doing my best to fit in

Begging God to stop the bleeding 

As the best parts of who I am

Hemorrhage from a wound of my own creation

No Man’s Land

I grew up on the border
Where the men were unapologetically male
And women wore flowers in their hair
Where the sun burned white-hot at high noon
Shining down on dusty roads and children playing on the banks of the Rio Grande
Where siesta time was long and sweet
The cerveza, ice cold
I have danced till dawn in Lajitas
Broken bread with scoundrels down in Oujinaga
And seen many an uppity gringo put in his place
In such a wasteland, in those days, there was no Mexican
No Texan
Because those of us who lived there knew that we belonged to neither country
We belonged to each other

Define and Conquer

in our endless effort to define ourselves

we confine ourselves

to an endless consciousness of the appropriate

until every thought…every deed

is a redundancy of the cynical, boring, mental masturbation

that enslaved our fathers and their fathers before them

like sheep, we take the word of those who dare think for themselves as gospel

never asking

never wondering what gifts are buried in our own minds