Because I need to share my art holistically.

Because I need a space

where I can stitch all facets of my art together.

Because Galleries can only show the images,

but there are also the poems.

Because sometimes an artwork gives birth to a poem and

because sometimes a poem evolves into an artwork.

Because my poems and art are inextricably interwoven

and are meant to dance together.


Thank you for your visit.

Welcome to my head.

red bird 


red hook


an angry moon


feathers and blood


my confessors all


raise me up in 


transcendental grace


or allow my fall


as I sing my tale


with a broken voice


as I hang from 


winter trees


with broken wings








Lonely child you were.

Is it too late to be your friend?

Selfish child you were,

always wanting what you could not have:

red ball, red stool, a dad who gave a shit,

a mother who didn't have to work herself

to the bone.


Pretty child you were,

an ugly old man now.

Is it too late to fold you into me,

to love us for who we are

and who we were

and who we will be?


I confess I abandoned you.

I was out of my mind for so long

and you were lost in the mazes of my heart.

I confess I believed

I could walk the years

without you.




I am Alpha and Omega


The red burn of ice


And the silver rose





Look deeper than confess


I am never words


I am always almost spring





To the feathered gods?


To the white beard sky dog?


To The Others from the Far Beyond?


Who we always knew will save us


From our confessions


At the very








fish, mouse, poet

hooked, guillotined, silenced


from the beginning

no possibility of escape


I learned to love

the pointy end


pain and surrender

dancing the tango


so now I confess

with colours on my tongue


and holes in my heart

And it is coming, not a shadow of a doubt,

The Final, The Ultimate, The Inevitable.

The Call for Last Orders. One More For The Road.

Time, Ladies and Gentlemen Please, it's Time!


There are many strategies.

Run and hide?

But everything is suddenly transparent.

Try bribery?

Dust in your hand.

Deny, deny, deny?

But it's already too late.


I choose to go out with The Surfers From Hell,

bobbing skulls riding the waves, waiting.

Spiked boards slippery with mystery,

waiting for, THEBIGONE.





It was years before I could ask for help
From anyone.
But this endless personal improvement
And inner transformation business
Proved beyond my tenuous skills
And sanity.
So I confess, I finally called their number
And irrevocably surrendered to
The Piggy Sisters Chorus Line Renovation Crew.
And you may laugh my friend
But as you see, I am not the man I was
I am cubed, fragmented and transmogrified
Into blissful, transcendental chaos.

That's how it goes sometimes.