firewheel is my first book, a mottled and dusty collection of poetry. Explore mythology, history, death, hate, and subatomic love songs. Unfortunately, it's in publishing hiatus right now. The editor who put an option on it has taken a leave of absence, and so we all wait.

Here are three samples, to whet your appetite. If you'd consider purchasing firewheel, please fill out the form below. Perhaps we can convince the publisher to go ahead with it. You can even link to me -- copy the firewheel logo.

Want one more? Okay.

All works are copyright me, though, so don't reproduce them anywhere without my express consent.

firewheel logo


one part palace, one part tomb
there's dust in my lungs and blood on my cheek
a bright smear falls where the sun ought to be
and we're washed with deeper blues as it fades
one candle for the south, one candle for the west
my pacing leaves a marble trail in the fine ash
we drown so slowly in the earth
or it walks outside itself so briefly
(spit up from dry land)
don't be surprised that it returns to reclaim
we hollow our caves and grottos
and thwart the bendings
when it comes time to succumb to gravity
let me go feetfirst
i suspect it won't like the taste for long

the Metal age

rust has come
you who scoff at Egypt's sand-scoured empires
who praise your own cleverness for being born contemporary men
the whole earth trembles

rust has come
eleven hands on the clock, know the time more precisely to what end?
i shout at your Colussus defiant and straddling the passage to your soft bellies
the whole earth moans and cries out
buckled joints, the work of a thousand tiny cracks
the whole earth trembles as the sea swallows your struggleless statue

a rising tide sucks at the beach as it has done for millennia
where Pythagorus figured and Charlemagne once stood
it could be any beach
we take our stand in daylight
dotted and protected by fire at night
distrusting though your symbol has drowned
unwilling to bow to the metal age
wrinkling precious parchment as we bend ourselves to its will
leaving no footprints to mar the tidal games

rust has come
clanking gears announce your plans before the sky burns
bronze- and steel-winged warriors from the north
your final act of deliverance, appropriate most in the Greek
reigning down on us as if we were a threat
-- you who hide in sandstone caves
lit by such ancient torchlight
leather skinned, scry-bones crackling beneath your primitive sandals
who fears whom? --
given the outcome (an arc of rubble no closer than a stone's throw)
perhaps we are blessed

rust has come
and the whole earth trembles

yards of hell

Twenty yards out of Hell.
Would you believe I look over my shoulder?

It's so much colder outside, past the gates.
They're so much prettier from this side. Freshly painted.
No doorman, though.

Amazing how rocky the soil is here. Last time I passed this way, it was freshly paved.
Guess there weren't enough bodies to fill the holes.

Another few feet and sweat drips off my forehead like snowflakes.
Or fine ash.
Maybe I'm leaving a trail of white to follow.
Or begging the question of who might follow.

Surprisingly, there was no sign over the gates.
Perhaps it's implied.
Probably unrealistic.
I mean, didn't I get out? Play the jailbreak card? Slip past the guards?

That reminds me... Where were the guards?
There's no sleep there, you know.

Now the air slices my lungs... do I have lungs?
Push on.
Push on. Why?

Looking back again, it's a giant mouth, grinning and waving.
"I'll put a rock through your eye, break out your teeth!"
Who mocks whom now?
Step. Step.
Maybe I'm climbing a mountain, though it seems so level.
Maybe descending slightly.
Seems higher, though.

Where'd the birds come from? I mean songbirds, not vultures.
So cold. How do they have the breath to sing?

Ice under my fingernails, in my beard -- I have a beard?
Ice beneath my feet, but the footing is secure.

I cling to this rock through the earthquakes and the winds.

When I have the courage to look back again, there's nothing but progress to mark my journey.
Progress, and a few avalanches I've caused.
Maybe they're the same.
I must be climbing. Imperceptibly.

Fifty yards and exhausted.
A rock in one hand, the other on a rock.
I cling. I climb.
I will stand.