Tag Archives: life


the devouring forms of childhood

lay within a transmuted cloud formation

backstabbed by light beaming brushstrokes

all trickling down into a pool of commonalities

awaiting a future

where feverish feelings bubble up into

times on the precipice of being cherished


Haiku on porch sitting


amble in my space

the glint of the scenery

holds quiet comforts



honeysuckle breeze,

car radio on full blast,

bird song and laughter



loneliness exists

even within full view of

lives outside of mine


Growing Pains

when you come to this place,

you come in hobbling,

on wheels,

clutching your side,

lips pursed and eyes squinted.

filled with dancers, mechanics, truck drivers, and athletes.

experience and age do not exist on a timeline.

you’ll be seen and reassured or disappointed –

the diagnosis given will be : life has been good to you or it has not

it’s assumed that you will leave in a state of lightness,

with a straight gait or a restful face.

when the veil of glass separates at your appearance,

you limp towards a life of hardship,

holding a note that reads,

“confirmation of mortality 1x a day”


A dream / My Reality

fluent image of my mirrored self,

an expulsion of the wooden building blocks I stuffed into separate spaces

when I wore the pale blue onesie that you purchased for me

while you didn’t hold hands,

and you didn’t kiss.

did you speak of me at all?

was a future of my selfhood ever even blended into the sperm that you shaped yourself around?

unabashedly ignorant and martyred,

I was the jackal in your womb.


when I bolstered myself and courageously leaped onto the water slide

of sunny, desolate Florida,

I thought back to when you first forced me forth.

you were the only water slide I knew,

before I even knew what a bruise would look like,

your milky pool was comfort and seemingly torture

before you decided to take even the slightest of plunges into my side of our kinship.


now, we are both square pieces of glass,

an hour apart.

I want to shatter you until you are the sharp dust of a memory

and then I want to inhale you until you leave

the deepest cuts in my self that I ever

had the guts to bleed.


grain of wood creates waves around my carpet,

a multicolored coastline

with it’s frayed edges, concealing mollusks and dog hair.

to follow the natural flow of the patterns

is to step back in time, or through the door

that separates living and loving.

tracing my fingers over them,

splinters collecting in my sensitivity,

realizing it’s not an ocean at all.

if it was, I would never leave the safety of my bed.

you can’t pay for an ocean but you can pay

for the Earth,

with it’s supplies that it kindly deals out to you.

no hidden motive except in your own humanity.


bartering may be safer than buying.

To Parish

a tree killed a cousin of mine

on the third month of last year

when the mornings were still getting used to waking without fields of crystals,

gifts brought in by bitter nights. 

when he was still getting used to being born,

and taking long walks through mountain trails to deal with that burden.

perhaps trees deal with similar burdens and perhaps they long to take those walks.

on that day, at that exact time, on the same burden-ridden trail, a tree found it’s voice. 

finally, the courage to have a voice, and express that voice.

a cracking, newly found voice in the form of a declaration 

to the mountains and to those fellow travelers who pass through there

about how life and death are directly linked to love and time, 

and we exist,

in the space where our love is greater, 

for more time than we exist out of it…

death isn’t fateful or ironic

it’s necessary and probable.


when the last bits of my body were smoldering, 

my mother’s corpse had already benefited the livelihood of earthworms and milkweeds

for over twenty years. 

“I” caught a westward breeze and floated with random precision 

towards an old solar power plant. 

if my smell had been more pleasing,

some may have said that I was a symbol of communication 

with a higher power. 

the remaining essence of my legacy could have been used in ritual

to help reassure an ancient people that death really wasn’t all that bad 

or that they were more important than they seemed. 

sometimes it’s easier to find solace in the knowledge 

that one day you’ll be able to fly.