The Great Experiment

demonic males

Nature knows no innocence.
It knows no morality.
Nature is a raiding party.
Scouting the other group
at night, waiting, observing
to see their numbers.
To try and catch one half asleep, alone.
To kill the enemy in their slumber.
That is nature’s war.

For nature is a trickster.
Using the dastardly deed.
It invites the enemy over to feast
as friend not foe.
To make amends.
To dream together.

Until sleep comes.
Only to wake to beat their target till dead.
Slaying with surgical precision.
To feed on their innards.
Scoop out hearts as they beat
in their hands.
This is nature.
This is nurture.
This is man.

To look to understand
examine our ancestors.
Look at the primates.
Look at the males.
See their ultra-violent
history for killing and rape.
To take what they see is theirs.
To procreate.
To create their own kingdom.
Only to have it taken away
by the first young male to see an angle.
To conspire to make a bloody triangle
around the alpha.

After all, the silverback gorilla is the chief
baby killer, guarding females from other
baby killers. Hidden in a forrest
where infanticide is the norm.

The beta is always in waiting.
While all females are beaten.
Children are slaughtered and eaten.
Fear is the tool of the trade used to control.
To mold the group into each role.

To control territory.
To control resources.
To continue progeny.

Nature has no favorites.
Knows no religion.
Knows no culture.
Created xenophobia.
Favors violence.
From primate to man.
If one can see our challenges then,
through that lens.

We have a long road to travel.
For demonic males
are inside us all.
Inside our genes.
He is our mother and father.
He is our politics.

To win the war.
To survive it all.
It is our nature we battle.

For nature does not care who wins or loses.
To win or lose, makes no difference at all.
For time will always prevail, as all species fall.
The great experiment continues to evolve.

This book is highly recommended. If you read it the horrible news stories on todays media will sound normal. Expected. Like apes with better tools. Doing what apes do. The same old story. Different species.

Crossing the Rubicon

See the box with all your office
supplies quickly forced in.
All your family photos and
supplies packed up for you.
Gut shot.
You bled out, time there.
Never to be gotten back.

But life always offers
a new chance.
Never turn back.
Never read another motivational poster.
Remember the one with the eagle.
flying high. The words below read,
Dare to Soar.

A tool of sarcasm used
to remind you of all your forgotten dreams.
You clung to those words and deplored
the life choices you made along the way
passing that poster each day on the way
to the office kitchen.

Smile deeply as you pass it once more.
It is time to move on.
Your box is packed.
An archive of memories.
Pick a place on the map.
Be very specific.
To begin your trip
listen to your animal spirit.
If you don’t have one be the Eagle.

On the road, once you see your exit, don’t turn.
Burn past that exit sign.
Go straight.
Go forward.
A new life for which you yearn is waiting.
Let the die be cast.
The past is the past.
Drive on.
While there is still sand in the hour glass.

Wings outstretched.
There is nothing more
than the wind to guide you.
Enjoy not knowing.
A new exit will soon reveal itself.
You are crossing the rubicon.
An immigrant of time.
Navigate by the moon and sun.

Letter to a Younger Poet

Letter to a Younger Poet:

There are no directions to you. You did not come with a manual. A How To book will not help you. All you need, is with you. Inside you. If you desire to. You will pick at your mental scabs. You will make them bleed. You will feel naked in front of the classroom. In front of your family. In front of all of humanity.

All sense of what is proper or acceptable will be thrown out the door. There will be no room for you. You will find yourself utterly alone. There you will find peace. You will share to the bone. Imagine yourself stripping off your flesh to dig deeper and deeper. Into your marrow. Never waiver.

If you ask for guidance be careful what you receive. You will hear people speak of grammar, of cadence, of rhyme. They will speak in parables of dead poets that you will think don’t describe what it means to be human, anymore. So don’t ask. Keep your eyes forward and stay on task.

You are the future. Poetry is defined through you. Through each word you share. Be on point. Make them part of the human experiment. Worthwhile. Worth reading. Worth sharing. Think of your life as if it is ending. Meditate on death. Think of this being the only thing you will ever write. As if there is a gun to your head. And there is. The gun of time. You must acknowledge it before you begin. Bow to it and let it help you defend you right to live.

Speak as if you are the voice of now. The voice of all. Tap into something greater than you. Let “It” guide you. Believe in the stream. Dive into it. The collective unconscious is there. All of life. All of the universe. You can speak for civil rights. For justice. For atoms. For stars. For you are the everything.

Your voice is a wise as Plato. As divine as Buddha and Jesus. Let your truth be known. Write it. Share it. Don’t expect anything in return. Ever. Give it away as if you are shedding old skin or hair. Forgive and forget what you said. There is no lesson here. Only catharsis. Where you are led, only time will tell. When you find the river swim.

For Rilke:

The Greatest Generation


The greatest generation of all, is ahead.
Look forward.
Can you see them?
They are coded.
We carry them inside our cells.
Be thankful.
There will never be a need
for them to fight a war.
No need to be shot and bled
for loss of limb or more.

The greatest generation of all time, has not lived.
They are our future.
A time when Racism and Hate are dead.
Both genes no longer needed nor fed.
Deleted before male and female
chromosomes are wed.

Be Grateful.
This generation will not cling
to any religion or flag.
They will reach for the stars.
Study the sciences.
Expand mathematics.
Map the universe.

For Guidance,
They will study logic.
They will write new philosophies.
Paint new masterpieces.

They will imagine new equations
to use the full power of the Sun.
They will see the infinite in the minute.
They will have no need for a god
for a moral compass.
For Morality will be a universal truth.

No, the greatest generation of all is not dead.
Is not dying. Has not been named.
Did not live through any great war.
Did not die for freedom for you or me.

For that generation gave all they could give
but forgot the greatest lesson of all.
To Forgive.
Holding hate in their hearts to the very end.
Not seeking equality for all.
Not knowing when to relinquish their power.
Used their might to wrong the rights of the minority.
Did not respect the Earth.
Denied their climate destruction against the majority.

As they forced their boot to the throat of all progress.
Collectively never taking a stand
To right the wrongs so many fought to apprehend.
Yes, their generation is soon to end.
Soon to be remembered, for when
they chose the wrong side of history.

For their true fault was to never comprehend
their greatest enemy was within.

First Born


I saw you first
as your head crowned.
In that moment
there was your mother and I
and all of creation.

The doctor held you first.
He gently helped me cut your chord.
I remember the texture.
The thousand shades
of red and grey.

I had a moment
with you alone.
I stared deeply
at your delicate features.
I felt your wisdom
in your minute old eyes.
I felt infinity, all around.
The circle of life, complete.

After the nurses cleaned
and wrapped you.
I gave you to your mother.

We had no idea
of the trials and triumphs
we would go through.
Teaching you.
Teaching us, the basics.
Eating. Walking. Running.
Biking. Swimming. Dancing.

Cleaning. Always cleaning.

Now we see you tall and lean.
Wearing an adult size shoe.
Teaching me the names of bands
I have long forgotten.

I still see your face.
in that first glance.
Now half grown.
The same face
from our first embrace.

I honor that moment.
That very instant
our live’s changed forever.
Taking on more meaning
than ever before.
Giving us more hope than
we could have ever asked for.

And more.
It gave us you.
A big sister.
A friend finder.
A peace maker.
A hugger.
A smiler.
A joker.
A big thinker.

Our First Born…..

So proud to be the father of Claire King.
Tomorrow, July 13th, she turns nine years old.
Thank you with all my heart Dana King for giving me a chance.

Cast it in Bronze:


Drawing, sculpting an image
out of thin air.
It is buried deep in there.
Now, I can only see it with
eyes closed.
I try hard to visualize
it like a prize.
To hold it close one day.

I see four figures holding
each other.
All in fetal positions.
The gap between loss
and redemption.
Grasping each other
in crossing.
in spooning.
A mom and dad.
Their two children.

From a flicker
I remember
when my brother and I
would break into my parent’s room.
Storming through their door.

To tickle fight
until we all could not stand
to laugh again.
So much love in
those moments.
Breaking fast
past the present.

To be born again,
into this generation when
laughter fills another room.
Another space.
Another safe home to
surrender to each other
to let our eyes meet.
Just to come up for air.
My wife and my two girls.

These are the figures
I would bronze.
I would immortalize.
To make a monument of love.
Of the bonds a family shares
before it all disappears.

Cast it in bronze.
Let it be found with the dinosaurs.
Let them know where love lived
so that it might live again.

A Poet’s Resume

i have no resume for this.
no pedigree to stage any fight.
i do not assume anything.
that i know anything worth while.
that you will listen.
that i will remember.

i know i must keep writing.
to keep trying.
to do one more pull up.
to try to make it over that wall.
to try and not fall.

i have no classes for this.
i know not what i miss.
i know not what poets to reference.
to make you smile.

i have no resume for this.
no resume for this.
and that… is why i enjoy this.
more than that.
more than what i am learn-ned at.

i know not what rules i break.
my ignorance is my fate.
blindly putting one word
in front of another.
one more verse.
one more stanza.

into this universe
we make order out of chaos.
truth out of lies.
to help us realize.
there is no needed education
for passion.
no secret ordination.
that makes this act holy.

only the human
sharing fully.
the pain.
the joy that makes us complain
that life still isn’t good enough.
for there is always room for improvement.
for in our lives there probably
will never be another movement
worth fighting for.
there will be war.

there is no more time for resumes.
write what you feel.
live how you will.
be honest.
love one another.
make that life’s skill.

Look Forward


if there is a chance.
another way.
to survive the storm.
it is through you.

your generation
will rebuild a nation
that has taken
one step forward and
two steps back.

for we seek progress
from the attack
of facts.
proving basic math.
from religious fanatics
of the old ways.
of primitive thinking.
from which our country
forged a new path.

for freedom of religion
we sailed the seas.
we pioneered
against disease.

for your ancestors
built new cities.
fought and died
to seek new liberties.

for basic social justice.
for a bill of rights.
we fought a civil war.
that we still fight for.

each and every choice.
every word you use.
you are the voice
of your generation.
to save this nation
from the old.

to break the mold.
to form a new paradigm
where diversity
is celebrated.
where all people
are integrated.

where the rule of
one religion.
one race.
is finally disintegrated.

where we are truly one.
seeking to heal the world
from the mistakes we made.
the greed.
the carbon we freed.

for in you, is the seed
that will take root.
the genes that will reboot
a world on the brink.

look forward.
do not blink.


to Claire and Willow

Mankind in Movement


Running. Reading. Burning. We monitor all. Eating paleo. Vegan. Taking group classes on how to move like cavemen. It began by wondering what workout plan would allow us to utilize our gene set to the max. While Jumping. Carrying. Hauling. Running barefoot is no longer barefoot. It is rubber and nylon designed to protect bare feet. Replicating motion. Studying native cultures. Gathering before sunrise to do a workout of the day and compete. Most reps. Fastest time. Best form. Bring it on.

We are a complex people. We eat and drink now to live for performance. We seek to monitor our steps and calories while streaming music. Streaming consciousness. Stepping out for the night. Drinking light. Drinking high alcohol with no sugar. Eating organic only, no GMO, grass fed before killed and bled. So much group thought into this living now. We are standing up from crawling. Giving group hugs for a workout well done. For being human.

Quickly evolving. Nostalgic for what we were. Where the third world still is. Simulating starving to burn our excess. Learning while stretching muscles we never knew we had. With decades of head down. Staring at glowing boxes with frowns. We are standing up from our computers now. Lengthening our spines and necks. Keeping our backs straight. Focused on our posture. Working on closure. From where we came. There is no app for that. For where we are going. There is no precedent. No measure for how far our minds and bodies can now go.

I can see for miles


From my stateside post
I saw for miles and miles.
We drank all night.
Came to shift hung over.
Serving with teenagers.
Taking naps between duty gaps.

No Officer around.
Plug in your Play Station.
Serving your nation at war.
Wishing the hours away.
To transfer out.
To see what the fight is for.
For now.
Don’t ask them to move.
Don’t ask them to clean.

Some smoked weed.
Some did cocaine.
A few did crystal.
So many failed piss tests

This was not my father’s Army.
No pride.
No honor.
Just some kids without a plan.
Kids who grew up
playing first person shooters.
Many lying recruiters who filled them
with dreams of being more.
Being part of a team.
Guarantying a college degree
and a phat cash bonus for a car.

All escaping something.
Stationed alone on our hill.
Only time to kill.
No helicopters or tanks ever seen.
No war.
No battle.
Only air conditioned computer stations.
PTSD from the war we dreamed.

Never to serve in Iraq or Afghanistan.
Never to be shot at.
Never to see death.
Last to fight.
First to complain.
Laziest sacks of shit I’ve ever seen.