The Dark Verses

I’m happy to announce that I’m launching a new project. It’s a series of cinematic poetry short films called The Dark Verses.

These short films, along with the poetry that drives them, will feature the dark aspects of life, and highlight issues that many of us live with, or have lived with, everyday, like depression, anxiety, and addiction.

This is an ongoing project with no foreseeable end date. The object of the project is to create beautiful and artistic short films, and to ensure that I’m always creating, even during the periodic downtime that occurs throughout the year. Another goal of mine is to stretch the boundaries of what’s possible on low-budget projects.

Some poems tell stories, while others express an emotion. Chalky Highway Road Lines expresses an emotion from a snapshot of time. It’s a feeling of being trapped within the monotony of addiction. When everyday becomes about one thing, and one thing only, the days, weeks, and months tend to bleed together and blur from existence.

So, without further drivel, episode one is now up.

Viewer Discretion Advisory: This short film contains images and words of a dark nature, which might offend some people. If you are someone who is easily offended, do not watch.

Disclaimer: No illegal narcotics were present or consumed during the production of this short film. Furthermore, this short film in no way represents the habits of the creator or the actor that’s featured. It is an artistic expression.


Chalky Highway Road Lines

I can’t tell if I’m the wheel
or the squirrel squished beneath

If there’s anything beyond the vanishing point
I wouldn’t know.
I can’t see past the black.
Nothing beyond the whiskey glass
or the rolling hills planted firmly
before the chalked, parallel lines
of the night highway.

A long drive.
An early morning sunrise,
and I watch
one more time
through blurry eyes
and I can’t deny the corona’s call
that peels my flesh like
melted skin slipping from a hot bone.

But these blood cells aren’t scorched.
And here in the relative cool of atmosphere,
nothing melts away but time
and meaning.

A white knuckled wheel
wonders just how often
a liver spot can spit death upon the skin
before it all just drips away
like diluted blood
down the shower sink

…or on the highway shoulder.

The pretentious road rolls on.
The sky above
clings to false metaphors
of life and god
more accurately represented
as the scabbed skin inside me
constantly run ragged by the need
to feel the contrasted crank
of those chalky highway road lines.