icon caret-left icon caret-right instagram pinterest linkedin facebook twitter goodreads question-circle facebook circle twitter circle linkedin circle instagram circle goodreads circle pinterest circle


Cranial pressure can be defined as

the subjective measurement of

the worrisome crap accumulated

within the confines of one's skull

that directly impacts the quality of life.


Each day concludes with

impressions left by the world—

love, hate, commendation, criticism,

humility, ego, and opinions of

people who have imprinted themselves upon us—

and we're left to decide if

the words and their meanings

come from friend or foe,

are meant for support or destruction.


The pressure, contained by a God-made shell

intended to gather all the goodness of humankind,

builds and dissipates eventually, as designed,

as it must to ensure survival,

but the outcome can go either way.


We need more space for the meaningful:

knowledge, words, ideas, desires, humor,

history, stories, feelings, poetics, life, creativity,

love, talent, lust, skill, and music.


Fortunately, everyone has a release valve,

a "purge-erator" of self-preservation,

to disperse into the depths of the netherworld

everything meaningless and toxic.




Take out the trash.

Make the decision.


The tiniest shred of an idea is

a story waiting to be unleashed,

although it struggles to climb to

the top of the garbage pile in one's head,

to harness the heat of the morning sun and

light the wick, a strand of fibrous material

coated with a thousand life incidents

waiting to be ignited, each to burn as

part of the previous one and the next,

on the way to the ultimate climax.


Light the wick and get rid of it all,

blow up the trash heap and start fresh,

and let all the good of the world flow

from thought to pen to paper

for as long as the hands of time allow.


Only by releasing the accumulated energy

is one left with the golden flakes,

to analyze and forge together

and begin anew, even if not completely.