(Poem) The meaning of life is a MacGuffin.
"What is the meaning of life?" // Philosophers ponder to no end // Like a dog chasing its own tail.
Tag: Poetry
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St. Patrick’s Day Limerick
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Here's a little limerick I wrote day of 03/17/2023. Cheers! 🍻🍀
“Midnight at Noon” (Single) — Official Liner Notes
Midnight at Noon awoke to the world on 03/07/26. Listen wherever you get your music. This post provides an inside look at the song, illustrating the lyrics, construction, credits, and colophon. For any curious souls or cultural foragers out there, this carries on the Liner Notes trend of my last two originals, which you can…
How I Was Replaced by AI
I made the news today //
It all happened at once: //
Someone peering down at their //phone, alarmed as, //
All of a sudden, in a great reflex of //passion, //
I boldly declared, "fire, FIRE! Flee to the // nearest foxhole, now!"
(Poem): blue-eyed sky
My gaze scrapes the blue-gray skyline //
Over scores of peaks and bumps of shadow //
A reservoir peeks out like an alien-Lump, a stumpy kind of ship //
Sitting adrift there on the shore of the broken skyline
STOP SAYING THIS ⬛🤬
THIS GOES WITHOUT SAYING
“hapless romantics” (Single) – Official Liner Notes
On Friday, November 7th, 2025, I released a new single, “hapless romantics.” For anyone curious for more context, here’s a post unfogging some of my thoughts, feelings, reflections and details about the process of writing and constructing the song. You can think of it like an analog to the liner notes you occasionally find in…
Experimental Essay: Creative Blocks Are Meant for Playing with
Creative BLOCKS Are Meant for Playing with: I’m unsure what to write about. All I know is the title. Come to think of it, I can’t even imagine what I would write about. Instead, I find myself writing rewriting expressions of frustration at not knowing what to write about…this so-called “creative block.” I’ll admit, I’m…
(Poem) Labor Day: Thank Your Local Fire Hydrant
Hey, it’s Labor Day! The day we dance So that we can dance With no hard work With no off-timed Time-offs No pied piper to pay No I would rather consume A windsill pie A breeze that wipes my forehead In the remaining heat Dropping promises Of autumn juices So sweet Swapping the bitter times…
Poem: untitled
gust catches my tongue like tales tied in yarns yet strung or parable naught begun it warns be strong like trees like song stretched on intervals of embarrassed temporariness lo, our emporium of meanings a banquet of searching a furtive yearning while over the years turning pages at a pace hither adhered my soul turns…