Friday, July 31, 2009


We are all alone, and
this is no surprise to most.
Born into a cold lone
place. Skin holds bone,
separate from others.
From birth held close
we, against another.
Suckled on a mother's
breast to long for one,
to be again and boast
about what we've done.
We found her who none
other can ever compare.
Yet, like sand upon coast
there's so many out there.
We can't help but stare.
Not that we mean to, of
course. We can't overdose
on them, you see. We love
feeling close again, above
any sin or a lustful desire
you attribute. We engross
in your form, with a higher
logical purpose, to acquire,
we, once again, community.
So don't blame us if we toast,
to the beauty in you we see.
We were never meant to be
alone. So when we feel blue,
down, out, about to say "adios",
be pleased we gaze on your two.
Because our heart is purely true.
We just want to be with you.

– Jason Kichline

Thursday, July 30, 2009


it's sad really
this body of mine
expanding to make
room for all the worry
stagnated life backflow
am I consuming stress?
or swallowing pride?
or hiding from the day?
or perhaps my very life?
skin grows to cover
the multitude of sins
a tent surrounding love
a tent that could use
some patches...
some tailoring...
but this is where I live
open the flap and come in
brush the sand off your feet
let's play some card games
so how do I pour this out?
to use this abode to reach?
to walk and wake as
one desired for his form?
despised is the fabric
that covers my heart
and the leaks and rustle
of looseness in the wind
so I'll let the zipper be
realizing that one day
I'll pull up the stakes
tuck it in a larger bag
and depart for home

– Jason Kichline

Wednesday, July 29, 2009


alone on a pole
watching worlds
distant from close
close to nothingness
comfort in busyness
and uneasy in stillness
I grind my manic mind
into granulated goods
meant for consumption
an almighty production
judged on the scales
of the sales life cycle
pain for profit gained
farther and further
I go down the road
away from the laughter
and shouts of the village
dusty haze, dirty ways
giving into more pleasures
no one sees me anyway
they are so far away
and care has left
my craggy cleft

– Jason Kichline

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Brain Fried

again my brain fry blurs
atop black circular whirs
wheels humming the drone
to float me back to home
with stares blank as slate
filled with chalky debate
academics taught too fast
and I'm in the wrong class
a day pressed on my skull
eyes straining, lifting all
vapors trace conclusions
securing uncertain delusion
ah, to shut down for a lull
and waste thoughts as aerosol
thinning airy layers of seclusion
delaminating hyperlogic confusion

– Jason Kichline

Monday, July 27, 2009


too much chatter rattles
the gossip debrief of a day
struggling to find my place
in a hall of senior strangers
friends from way back when
and I don't go very far back
senile sisters not remembering
their next door neighbors from
when they were five years old
who really cares about that?
or that the divorced lady's
boyfriend wrote her address
in the guestbook - maybe they're
living or "gasp" sleeping together
attempting to start controversy
in a room of non-attentive yelling
with a conversation for each person
goes louder and louder to overpower
and I simply sit, accepting the chaos
tired of people, withered, exhausted
as anti-social as a raging diabetic at
an all day ice cream social
without sugarfree anything

– Jason Kichline

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Each Beat

each beat, a cry...
from an inmost infant where wet
whimpers form on the edges of love
sighing to stretch into more of you
tell me why does this feeling return?
descending like a delicate dove
perched on exposed emotions
gripping them with sharp talons
pulling and tearing unknowingly
but now all I want is it's presence
aching erupts all that is beautiful
cherished pain, unparched pleasures
slowly bleeding out heats of passion
pouring out more than I can afford
to lavish you in the beauty you exude
a sweet oil from our deep reserves
pungent spices from thick incense
draped in fog and candles glowing
slick with pure anointing flowing
consuming hungrily, lapping we
are starved dogs for far too long
thrown the meaty bone

– Jason Kichline

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Shi Han

Yes? No. No? Yes!
responding properly
feels so improper to me
he only talks about men
he hasn't mastered "she"
a smile that shines
like sour lemon. OK!
happy and excited
willing to try anything
more of the "not boring"
and basketball of course
wanting to stay with us
listening intently to
our endless gibberish
reading the Chinese
I translated online
for a church lesson
simple nod, he's done
white PJs, fall asleep
on the couch or car
too much rain for
basketball dribbling
street ball moves
outburst of giggles at
Spongebob Squarepants
it's a great secret
it's a big surprise
nobody knows
even me!
too sweet
too salty
too sour
I get too fat
it's good
it's fun

– Jason Kichline

Friday, July 24, 2009


groans slow knowing the sheer is nearing
bowing robes flowing on endless sunlit carpet
soft and silky going under feet and lumber
applause like laughter erupts in ears awakened
in winds begins the subtle truth of nothing
fear recedes like old waves out as new proceed
the siren call of all to sun and wind and romance
unwinding in airs of beauty and nature in dance

– Jason Kichline


in all our ways
surrounded around
circling us like an army
marching steady
pounding rains
blurred visions
rescue lights flashing
boats on trailers dashing
firewood tossed in the
middle of the road
sticks and bark
wet and drenched
this is not normal
downhill we go
with the flow
in the ditches
and the yards
rains gathered
mud, sticks, rock
brown power racing
like a wave into the way
a very expensive flume ride
too deep and fast to cross
back up baby
no, I think I can K-turn
what are you crazy?
no, I think I can K-turn
so I do and away we go
finding another way
to see the monsoon
from enclosed safety
not safe for much longer
let's go home while we still can
while we still have a home
save yourself
and others
and me

– Jason Kichline


ripe with plenty, the harvest calls
growing green tall with plenty
gathered crop of more and more
sold and money streams as rain
and pockets flow with green

to the city goes the farmer then
and written on rice paper stiff
the translucence amount fragile
four thousand one ninety two
dollars to invest for clear love

in a waiting room of pomp and white
oak and marble he sits and waits
denied and ignored by appearance
alone and despised he stands up
and waves the cash to tempt the dogs

in cover-alls they take him in
behind the curtain that shrouds
the hidden evils of the system
of increasing profit for profit's sake
at green felt oak tables of high stakes

there he changes hard earned dough
for paper that secures his keep
and stands up in aisles to go
surrounded by smug suits in white
black laughing at his humility

leaving passing betting stalls
gambling money at higher loss
games of chance, without a chance
gambles on horses and dogs and men
for God's sake they bet on people!

how they make their money is deplored
the man leaves, saddened by the hoard
hard work and perseverance is his way
sleep at night, and earn in light of day
because finance of promise and seize
will soon be owned by other countries

– Jason Kichline

Tap Tap

tap tap
fingernails on glass
glass proving it's fluid
water proving it's weight
weight impatient waits
tap tap
water from ground
falling from high
sinking soggy sky
well drawn up
well run dry
tap tap
the fingers flail
music in my head
it's mine, all mind!
drumsticks affixed
find hard hollow
sound travels
tap tap
prying into thoughts
spying on your hurts
vying for your attention
at the door to your soul
peek through the hole
it's me stupid...
tap tap

– Jason Kichline

Thursday, July 23, 2009


the early day starts
and white fog ascends
lifting from forest
ripping from fields
rest is for the rested
and tears for the troubled
tears flow over there
so much time
so many words
so wisdom ceases
and she cries wanting
expecting someone to hear
but everyone sleeps at night

I'm sorry

I felt like sleeping
you feel like crying
there is not much I can do
but listen

to catch tears in my head
and tell you what to do
but you don't listen
or maybe things
are just that
and this whole long process
of sharing my wisdom
and watching you
not listen to
me makes
me tired

– Jason Kichline

Wednesday, July 22, 2009


a "supreme being"
what does that even mean?
maybe it should at least
come with sour cream
or maybe extra cheese
or special spicy sauce
how do you describe it?
it's something that "is"
but not really
not here anyway
not in the real sense
like missing calories in diet soda
not that I really know what a calorie is
wait a minute
can you see one?
I know you can eat them
or at least too many of them
they are everywhere
don't you understand?
calories define our reality
changing the course of fatties
or not, they just ignore them
you can't see them anyway
or maybe you can?
in the pudgy little six year old
toppled over like a misshapen potato
mashed into goo and gravy
by much fitter bullies
or the overstuffed pale chunky butter
that's forced from restrictive belts
that looks like yummy coffee cake
the old maid woman of thirty plus
her virginity hanging like the last
neon purple teddy bear prize in
the greasy carnival game trailer
behind the unsightly carny
she wants to lose it all
are those calories?
or the effect of calories?
so maybe they are real after all?
but we choose not to believe
ignoring the writing on the wall
of pure sugar cereal now with candy!
and high fructose corn syrup in bottles
we are stupid as uncouth animals
munching our faces on feedbags
unaware of the presence of the
unseen reality in everything
it has a name you know...
it has a dietary equation...
it is something that "is" right?
so maybe supreme beings
are not unlike cheese
and special sauce
and sour cream
after all?

– Jason Kichline

Tuesday, July 21, 2009


sometimes words seem so inadequate
expressions of moments still in motion
these are the times of summer drought
no where is found the flowing emotion
underground it stays

the young boy playing with water guns
and red bottle rocket plastic wound
for liquid tapped beneath the surface
is not a gentle drop to be allowed
maybe later we play

will the water of words come again?
as the daily death of church bells
rings upon my lap and in my head
constant crashing of ocean swells
against the start of day

will words follow words again?
pulled by the force of moving streams
encouraged by the few going before
for it requires a single drop it seems
to crack the craggy way

– Jason Kichline

Friday, July 17, 2009


in dusk and dark
a huddled few chasing
plastic water bottles clutched
at the ready
they twinkle like distant stars
but as random as grey static
when the cable TV goes out
fresh faces wide in wonder
at the magic of the night
and with so little effort
these winged creatures
light up the evening
with smiles
as children
like children
crawling on damp grass
jumping into mauve skies
as trees stand watch
giggling in the breeze
a light held in the hand
then sharing it with all
the warm yellow glow
pulsates like a moody heart
nervous to beat for us
just chemicals and hormones
the natural way of life
as if the firefly knows
that what it does
is what it is
I mean does it even know
it's own beauty?
the beauty we hold?
delicate in small hands?
perhaps we run after fireflies
the magically moments of life
we try to contain in bottles
the splendor of creation
the vitality of chemicals
the beacon of sexuality
in our hand we crush it
in the bottle we smother it
on our shirts we smear it
and marvel at the glowy goo
it stinks you know
after all, it's insect guts
and we wreck the wonder
of nature recreating over and over
eternal the cycle of lights twinkling
of youth scurrying through fields
capturing beauty to call their own
and hold in his hand, or hers
the hand of hers, or his
to squeeze the hand
to hold the heart
to own them
to smother the beauty
to place in a jar to watch
to scrape the goo on our shirts
until all that is left
is dead empty shells
and missing abdomens
with no more sex
with no more life
with no more flight in our wings
crawling on damp grass
like a helpless roach

– Jason Kichline

Wednesday, July 15, 2009


feet firm in hot sand
drawn to this desert place
far from deserted for some reason
the children parched gather around
malfed, malnourished, things are bad
how can they live without?
as a healthy man I hold the spigot
with a short vinyl hose, bright
suburban green against white
burning sand, nozzle in hand
spraying and filling shotty buckets
leaning in they drink from the end
this is a precious resource of life
and I give it free and generous
when seemingly no one else does
but soon the laughter and chatter
leads to a struggle for more and
exclusive rights to be my only one
because they need it more or want it?
to be loved as a favorite in a place
where favoritism should be banned
do I turn off the faucet and tell them
in a foreign tongue they hardly know
to share with everyone this gift all
or crank the knob, increase the flow
refresh dry love and wrinkled youth
for death is washed away with water
that is the divine purpose of this
fountain of life in cracked earth

– Jason Kichline

Tuesday, July 14, 2009


she sends a musty invitation to my senses
as ascending an old spiral staircase from 1840
carpeting new, walls painted thick as memories
brewing coffee drips through the seams of time
a distilled, dark liquid of another life entered again
for these halls are like those that make you believe
the drag you before a judge and a jury of peers
unwillingly informing you through your senses
that now is the time to sit up straight and listen
a verdict is pronounced in the recesses of morn
echoing from room to room and time to time
that belief is more than blind walking up stairs
that change is more than an empty "how are you"
she reminds us of an older time in our history
she tells of a time we do not remember
because that legacy is no longer ours
it was theirs, the greatness
the generation that knew pain
the generation that knew suffering
the generation that overcame darkness
so up the narrow staircase I go
hand on carved pine thick with shellac
feet on soft and creaking angled planks
nose filled with the ancient aroma of life
life reaching out to grasp the promise
of those who believe

Monday, July 13, 2009


rain comes from distant places
arriving along with fresh faces
warm clouds tumble in a grey mist
with the sweetness of a concrete kiss
strangers gather around the fount
in a equal portion enough to count
coming one for two or two for one
the nervous anxiety of new begun
as they streamed from a yellow bus
it seemed as though they were one with us
gathered and sat within a row
to find the ones we get to know
calling a name into the crowd
finding one with whom endowed
the name we had written down
the name we never heard the sound
but then arose a sound above the mess
a fresh face and voice who answered “yes”

– Jason Kichline

Friday, July 10, 2009


impatient trees slap the breeze
irritated at how slow it flows
from the dry of a sky on high
hot as an oven above decay
the town isn't useful anyway
crumbled junk drunk in chaos
flung as seconds from a clock
hung from hangers in cinder block
unfinished walls call as stones
groans and moan of bleak witness
recalling abandoned dreams and
buildings that need not be built
but they stand like a Stonehenge
raw wild of shrubs and plastic bags
bowing as Druids in cosmic halls
to the fire god of waste and haste
or maybe the sun goddess of sloth
or what the hell, probably to both
steps are made carefully on terrain
a misplaced step could puncture skin
and slice with rust within the vain
because not many venture in
for the village is not one at all
all the signs have a true name
but all changed with spray paint
in retarded letters, they spell Desolate
I doubt the place has a zip code
though many I know call it Abode
they wander it's damaged streets
as their lust for life depletes
like the cool of an ice cube melting
why can't they rebuild the walls?
why can't they clear the halls?
the debris that twists their noses
like the bully who never graduates
perhaps to lay the new foundations
we need to destroy the old in heat
with labor in weather sweltering
with pain and direct confrontation
and restless heartache, I'm told
but the ground here is ripe
littered with thin baggage
that once carried whole goods
so clean the junk away with brooms
destroy half rooms with hammers
crumbling them into rubble and gravel
shoveling the shallow graves of dust
but although we try, we must trust
that to build a house of renown
requires the safety of a town
only together can we reconcile
to sweat and labor at life awhile
to remove crud and clutter for once
to forget the forgotten attempts
to build and simply destroy memories
to start with something worthy
of recall and remembrance of love
to build our houses atop the place
where sin rose against God's grace

– Jason Kichline


loneliness is not like a creeping
but shows up like an uninvited guest
and I wasn't even having a party

I caught myself in a self-embrace
waking slow to faster flows
of feelings carrying me
over rapids, falling
but for whom?

the person unknown?
the child not yet known?
the infant baby unborn?

I pierce my heart with logic
I fix it's gaze on something real
the family and friends not with me
surely in them is where it comes from

but no...
my heart aches, unsatisfied
and it shakes me into wondering
"why am I awake?"

– Jason Kichline

Thursday, July 9, 2009


shattering silence
with explosive

destruction flung

a rock hurled headlong
shattering pane glass
damaging wood
and vinyl

the mower stops
the young, tan boy
upset by the accident
inspecting the damage
absorbs the unfair heat
of an ignorant neighbor

and here I sit in shade
drinking cool cocktails
reclining on furniture
causing patient chaos
by casting stones in
the tall, ripe grass

– Jason Kichline

Wednesday, July 8, 2009


blue rolls of sky sheets unscroll
   as a poster board canvases of pain
colors streak in crayon bleak
   strokes dripping ripe in dark blue stains
falling as loss of unfathomed cost,
   dropped like bricks again
he eats the scroll that takes it's toll
   and sickens a soul in chains
red, swollen eyes unfocused cry
   over hearts poured out on pages plain
stretched beyond the memories drawn
   on and from simple times obtained
and now he's gone and moving on
   away from this life disdained
a place or space, a trace
   of self to seek and make a name
but now he weeps over a past that seeps
   in reality rushing wrong as rain
drop from a cup for giving up
   on familiar friends to find faulty fame

– Jason Kichline


swirling stirred by unknowing
the place between certainty
how gentle it touches skin
the cold blue of righteousness
and the warm depths of sin
we find ourselves suspended
still spirits of descending angels
meeting fallen man ascending
black of earth and ground
caked on bare crooked backs
cracked and calloused feet
pull hard against gravity
the weight of pain and burden
rising like a mountain Phoenix
as heavy fog lifted to the moon
meets in the air the pure beam
wings of white translucence
blow cool wind towards earth
black fog rising, pure light falling
pressing human love tight
sinister hiding of wood
worthy revelation of good
open to the mingling of
unsuspected love
in between is humanity
in between is verity
in between is clarity
a contrast of black and white
is unseen during the day
is unseen during the night
extremes are not found in sight
but power in the energy of grey

– Jason Kichline

Monday, July 6, 2009


flowing as fine fabric
bright as untouched clouds
pregnant with poignant reminders
of perfection isolated from a touch

any touch

she desires to be stained
a smudge on her simple satin
a rip, torn into her promise veil
a strand of braided hair
a piece untucked

she announces her body
graceful movements of rising breasts
falling and lifting like the cycle of life
like the coming of a thunderstorm
she is uncontrollable as nature
pure and passionate

and as the wind billows
her heart swells within
burning as the sun
burning as one
a one desire
to come

come with me

she emerges from her height
riding on the sky above
and air holds no draw
she descends below
and to shed cloth
and to expose
her pink skin
so lovely

one body

and to press herself against
the foreboding body of earth
to cool herself on raw ground
to moisten herself on the moss
to rub herself upon the fallen log
to find herself revealing in her light
the crouching black of forest drenched
entrenched in chains of deep fluid drowning

one man

she lifts his head
she arouses his being
she clings to his core and
she breaths on his nakedness
she knows the right ways to obey

one fall

stale blood flowing
the unseen knowing
as evil comes as light
light shines into night
driving out the hiding
starving calm residing
within shadows abiding
as righteousness as light
rapes the dark with white

– Jason Kichline


here moss and mud mingle
gripping fast on naked stumps
pitching scent of moist and mold
into the sweet dense air of wood

fear and crouching
he waits in silent hiding
slipping fast into naked turmoil
the moon bright as his soul dark
the hole within him

stark and empty
deep, black fluid drips as oil
poured in by the ages
the sins of fathers and fathers
heaped like soil thick with bones

heavy and hurting
weighing down this man
the beams of bright, a burden
the shade of shadow, freeing

behind the tree
over the roots
nude toes dig at dirt
fresh earth clings as a lover's embrace
surrounding his loins like hot breath

the forest romances him
the forest calls to his wild
the forest spills stale blood
the blood turned thick
the foul fluid of fortune

– Jason Kichline

Sunday, July 5, 2009


she is trailing last again
introduced after proud red
flamboyant and loud
stealing that attention
and following pure white
a small and quiet peace
untouchable by most
but a blue comes last by far
dropped behind but presented
wearing humility as sleeves
she cries out for affirmation
but not too haughty, hiding
containing all points of light
gathering all in a sea of life
she holds each candle and sews
framing states away from banners
waved by red and white as two
she works in the packaging department
obsessive about the rows and columns
of tears and stars in a sky expanse
held silent in the corner
hung out to dry in wind
we find long attraction begin
to power to those who wait
within a rectangular haze
of a peaceful timid hue
following feeling blue

– Jason Kichline

Saturday, July 4, 2009


a year ago we gathered
hot haze of day replaced
with a drenching dew of night
new friends held close and faced
with celebrating a new summer rite

cars arrived slow from town
and parked in the fields around
among crowds that did surround
we listened as each family blathered
the mom, dad and kids on the tailgate
on folding chairs with expectant for wait

we walked around and spread the cheer
with popcorn and lukewarm root beer
with accents this place never hears
with messages of grace made clear

and as the sun fell below the trees
and excitement blew upon the breeze
and the dim of sky like a curtain tease
and saw the signal by a single flare
and eyes were wide to see it there

and leaning we upon the lawn
with blankets cold and acquaintance warm
we celebrated just one more time
but for them it was a stranger sign
of freedom found in a distant land
a freedom within the reach of hands
for all, whether black, brown or white
firm within their grasp to fight
for freedom sparkling in the night

– Jason Kichline


hearty laughs ring off fond memories
warmth flows like fine sweet wine
passed around in a communal cup
and drunk by all to turn back time
lips lapping laughter with ease
jokes and stories loosening up
release of remembrance refined
into a sweet unity of these
friends and family who please
the inner hurdles my soul jumps
in the quest of what it finds

– Jason Kichline

Thursday, July 2, 2009


a corner splashed with crimson light
in morning poured like grapefruit juice
cold and biting, and barely sweet
a nectar stolen from the vine

cast visions upon a porcelain sink
chipped and rusted from years of use
abused by few in a love divine
in lust unknown drenched in deceit

and seated there upon the white
a faucet fastened to solely seduce
drips slow a liquid welled from deep
leaks crusting and rusting over time

this passion drips as from a shitty spout
and though the spigot is turned too tight
the flow of him still longs to seep
and rushes reckless past this arid truce
with drenches our desires to intertwine

– Jason Kichline

Wednesday, July 1, 2009


morning glow
orange and bright
cast the light of
fresh love and life
for a new day
is breaking slow
on colored walls
dawns of white
and hearing birds
in song take flight
whispered words
of unbroken vows
of unbroken hearts
in unbroken nows

– Jason Kichline


shattered shards of once endless opportunity
cast as shadows upon bare concrete
fragile knees beg for bruises
ankles wrenched in refusal
skin raped by reality's rasps
she gasps

between the tears that drip continuously
dropping solemnly to a cold grey beat
she cries alone in this walless cell
her own personal convergence of hell
squelched under sagging ceiling beams
she screams

silently, naked and exposed to an empty eternity
hair drags in blood, torn body and blistered feet
locked by life without a key or pardon
her husband no more than a prison warden
tapping on the iron bars, he comes
she succumbs

flushing her worth away as liquid dignity
soaking and flowing sweat in rituals repeated
numb as the injured deer devoured by jackals
writhing as raw wrists wrestle at shackles
the caged call of a kept becoming, cries
as she dies

– Jason Kichline