You May Say I’m a Dreamer, But I’m Not the Only One


you had the power

to make the Yangtze sparkle, teem with dolphins,

rebuild the polar ice caps,

feed every single child on the planet,

make the nights safe in El Salvador, Tehran, Moscow,

but you held the power in your hand,

desperately afraid that to give meant to lose

ignorant of the fact

that when they win, we all win,

or maybe your attention is lured

from the power in your palm

by Beyoncee’s instagram, the latest royal wedding, reality tv,

which are more pretend than dragons and fairy tales

because the powers that be,

don’t want you to know

your voice, your strength, your heart

are more powerful than all the money in the world.

to be ignorant of the truth

and for what it’s worth,

your money,

believe it or not,

can support ten families over

with true happiness,

not what is portrayed on the iphone commercials.

That’s what it’s like to be American,

in case you were wondering.


State of the Union

Jeggings have reached an all time

climax in quality and technology,

which only gives hope

in the world of athleisure

2018 has become.

and perhaps people

will finally come to their senses

and stop wearing those ridiculous

shirts with cutouts on the sleeves,

jesus christ, have some dignity.

Maybe they show off the toned

arms of the people

who drink butter in their coffee

and run the holiday k’s

5k 10k 100k

or care about Tom Brady

because snap chat

or facebook for the fogies like me

helps eliminate the terror

of sending our children to school

with bullies, armed gunmen, microwave burritos

while we sit in traffic,


because bills must be paid

and we should be so happy to have a job

and a brand new corolla

and one of those pink cat beanies

all the white women use to toast,


with their vente lattes or pumpkin spice chai no foam keto sugar free bullshit

feeling all Gloria Steinem,

although evil still reigns the land, the world.

And we elected Joffrey Baratheon and

smile when gas is under five dollars,

because our lives are the same

better for our sniveling children,

who don’t eat their vegetables,

refuse us, refuse their teachers

get anxious when there’s homework

because it’s dog eat dog on the foursquare court

and we need to make sure our piece of this world

is defended

like the cowboys we are.

But without grit, toughness, hard work, resources.

Cowboys knew justice.

They at least knew that if they didn’t work hard enough,

they’d perish. But we’ve stopped telling

that side of the story, especially to our children.

Now, it’s all about what I can gain in SPITE of you,

card-carrying members of the blame game,

all of us, not caring to stop

the wheel of injustice

to give and give and give to others,

like all the greats did, the ones who actually changed things,

and probably didn’t brunch after their once a year protest.

Obama famously said “we are the ones we’ve been waiting for.”

Well, I can say, while wearing my jeggings, and looking away in disgust

at those stupid blouses with the cutout shoulders,

that if what Obama said was true,

we should cry into our Starbucks,

because we are the ones

who don’t care enough about anyone,

including ourselves, to tame this wild west

and by acting truly human,

make this world great

if not “again,” then, at least

this once.



C U Next Tuesday

Lady at the DMV

Why did you just yell at me?

I know for sure

I’m scatterbrained.

Missing things

in your domain.


I forget the date

and you can’t process,

if I’m late.

I know I ask

a lot of questions,

hoping for your

expert suggestions.

I seek your

guidance in the time

we have together

and admit that I’m

apt to forget something

here and there

It doesn’t mean

I just don’t care.

I’m hoping when

I ask for help

that the next time

I won’t get scalped.

Or condescension,

which leaves me shaken.

Especially when

you’re the one that’s  mistaken.



Why should you read what I write?

I have nothing to offer you.

I haven’t seen as much as you.

Loved as much as you.

Lived as much as you.

My vocabulary is awkward.

My words don’t portray

the stories my soul

has to share.

They can’t.

Because words are finite,

black on a  page,

not fluid

like the dreams of this life

that ebb and flow through my head

and crash on your shore

when I hear your voice,

read your thoughts.


Why should you read my words?

There’s no way to know

if we can really connect.

So I just imagine with each touch

of my keys, my pen,

that I’m really touching you

and you’re warm and fleshy,

swimming in your own dreams,

through this life.

My heart doesn’t tell me

that it’s just plastic I feel

with each poke poke poke

of the keyboard

and my thoughts are sent spaceward

across all continents,

where you’re likely dismissing

my ramblings

because there’s really no reason

you should read my writing.

Just the musings

of the sheltered. The confused.

The inexperienced. The awkward.

The empty handed but full-hearted.

The shy.

Die Another Day

To the girl who is going to lose

The only man she’s ever loved,

Just know that all your strength

And will

And love

Can’t cure his cancer,

Growing in his lungs

And we all could have explained

How these choices led to this place,

But he’s going to cry

When he realizes he’ll never go

To Hawaii

Or hold your child,

Teach him to catch.

And this time,

It’ll be you

Who wipes his forehead

And dries his tears.

Begging him, asleep,

And full of the drugs

Hospice gave him,

To let you go,

Aim toward the light.

And you lie and say

You’ll be alright.

But it’s clear

That there isn’t one person

In all of the seven billion

All over earth

That can be to you

What he was

In one hour,

One day.