I love music, poetry and fiction. Sometimes, I write essays. It is my outlet. Creating art helps me in my recovery.


I Struggle Early (and Often)

There are morn-

ings when I can’t get

out of jail,

details pop,

humans strangle, cutting, leav-

ing insane self down.



One day, the sun, the trees, and the light post marked my mood.

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A Day Crossing Some Unusual Desert Land

Grayed windows

highlight slimy life,

creepy sun

sending them

off to hide, sorting mismatched

colors, death soon here.

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Saturday Death at Costco

I want to

love people, forgive

and be calm,

always smile,

but I am not bright sun, and

I am blasted dead.


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Was I at Denny’s with her One Time?

Baby brown booth,

you staring, then shouts

tell me you

hate me; my

mother hates me, shows me I’m

shit living badly.



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America 2017, #11

Floating dead,

bending bridges and

organs, sing,

my friend of

your loss of all that was good,

and come back full brown.



Carl’s amateur dystopian photography – Fort Smith, Arkansas



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A Moment, Knowing I Had Wasted My Life

A rock in

garden, looking for

plants to kiss

but being

locked to uncaring clays and

sick, little orange bugs

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Before, Then After Dali


needed for calm survival,


dreams haunting

our false loves, clean peace, and death

steals our new purpose.


the-persistence-of-memory, by Salvator Dali, 1931

The Persistence of Memory, Salvador Dali, 1931.

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Friday Afternoon at Costco

I know it’s

me — the people with

anger that

mangles my

nerves — attacked by carts, wanting

to curl down and die.

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All of these Knickknacks Were Glistening in the Gutter by the School Bus

Throw stained socks,

empty the tank, lec-

ture light souls,

banking on, grasping on, tear-

ing us to pieces.

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One Time, on a Leather Couch, When I Followed Directions

Told to see

miracles, I see


purple, swim-

ming flowers;

they drive wedges of happy,


joyous lifetimes big



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