Nov 03


The sun has sunk down to stare me in the eyes, bright enough to make up for any branches that cross its path. I lower my eyelashes, dropping circles of zigzaggy rainbows to hover in front of me. Like a half-busted television screen, the colors waver, but I like the easy satisfaction, the way I can paint over my life without (fully) blinking an eye.

    I wander on, past the tattered buildings and overgrown bushes.

Winter is finally closing in, swallowing seconds of sunlight each day. Soon it will be too cold to bike to school, too cold to run by the lake when there’s nothing but slivers of the moon fringing the waves.

    I shove my hands in my pockets, but it doesn’t do much to stifle the frosted air that lingers on everything, like the used-up smoke that billows from figures lining the sidewalks. I curl my lips inward, rolling over the skin sharpened by the wind, and wait.
Nov 02

The Other You

I was born on a winter day, when the sky was too full of gray. You hated that, because thunder meant excitement and sunshine play, but gray skies were inside time. I remember the teacher, another one of those deities that always seemed to be cushioning your life, announcing that today’s playtime would be indoors, and pulling out that tub of playdough that was beginning to form a crust around its edges. I remember you walking over to the plastic pretend kitchen, squashing balls of purple clay onto a cookie sheet, quickly growing annoyed at the utter lack of interaction..
Oct 30


when i glimpse
clinging to the
blanched tiles of the
shower wall

i don’t cringe.

              i     glide
 a finger through
    the clumps
                                   and p u l l
        the lines
  into faces.

when my nose runs
i don’t snuff out the drops.
i let them


onto the smooth curve of the

when a spider


from the ceiling
clinging to air
           weaving     even
as my breaths
send it sw
Oct 28

Right now

i’m sunken in a sea of
white creases breaking
the round curves of my puffy

huddled in warmth only
my fingers reaching
out to splatter the keyboard

i’m aglow in the
brightness pouring from the
screen, forcing back the dark

ignoring the
numbers with PM and y=mx+
and struggling to stay busy

i’m uncomfy my
hair and glasses and skin
all jumbled up

waiting for inspiration to
strike, then diving to the
words, but still wondering

i’m about finished
now, still not satisfied but
too tired to care
Oct 28


Sometimes, I can see.

The days cascade by sprucely, the smiles and the blinks and the thoughts flattened into the same mold. Everyone is a cookie-cutter, and everyone is a cookie. Everyone is forced together into these molds, these opposites that they can’t live without. There is knowledge, peddled greedily back and forth, crumbs of information stolen and exchanged again, hoping to reach happiness.

But there are also opinions, mistaken, traded and bred and carted across the globe, blindingly apace as they float through the years, and suddenly everyone wears someone else’s thoughts.

They try to abscond. They assemble fragile structures to absorb the ideas before they collide into their heads and imprint themselves beneath their skin. They grab hold of what they can reach and hold it where no one can see, no one but their children.
Oct 07


“Shh,” she whispered. “It’s only an illusion.”
“But how do you... project all of this?”
“Not this. The snow, the ground the cold… it’s just to keep them out.”
The world melts a little in my palms, into something I can’t percieve properly. My mind fogs. I don’t know how to stop it. There's panic somewhere, struggling to be heard, but it’s hard to recognize when it isn’t so sharp.
“Don’t fight it. The light, the city… accept them. Allow them in. Add to them, change them. But don’t ever try to reason with them.”  Her voice drops. “That’s how they die.”
The pain solidifies as I try to understand. Don’t fight… accept. I lose my grip on any thought and fall.
Into her arms.
The landscape brightens again, this time for me. I curve a skyscraper until it brushes the ground, then shatters into stars. I pull a bench into the air and let it hang there, swaying. I grab her hand, pulling her across waves of color, bouncing into its depths.
Oct 07


Clumps of clouds waft out of the squat gray tubes and into the clear blue sky, held back only by his gaze. He watches the deep hue wane into the upward stretches of azure, clenching his stomach instinctively at the stirrings of old yearnings, those wishes for his own fate. Wistfully, before he recalls his own adulthood, he pictures the people inside; holding shimmering instruments, gently spinning air into strands of cirrus and gobs of cumulus, releasing them up the tubes and into the sky. What would it be like, to fill a blank blue slate with swirls of cirrus and fat black rainclouds? To give, instead of take?

He wouldn’t know. He out of most people has been inside the factory, a grimy place of arduous labor and faces fissured with torment. He would know its harsh lessons better than most.
Oct 07

Lonely Thoughts

A crooked fence winds over the hills,
rusted warts sprouting from the spikes
I lay a hand down, embracing the ragged metal
then scramble over.

Winter has not yet arrived in her full strength
but she knits a cap of snow upon your grave
and leaves trees creaking like doors without oil.
The branches, a cage of tangles.
surround us, keep us from fl o  a   t    i     n      g        a        w            a                 y
like the opinions   zig
through my mind.

Others smile, you know, when you're not around.
As though the severed bond between you and them
didn't bleed their souls dry.
As though you were never here,
never mattering enough
for them to choke without you.
Never accomplishing anything,
worth missing.
But I will stay loyal to you.
I'll mourn you
Oct 06

Coffee cups

There’s twenty dollars in my
even though everyone knows a
cup of coffee
only costs three.
I don’t know where this will end up.

12: 29
The cement walls and
graffiti are
and I fumble with a
paper card before
changing my mind
and running
back up
Sunlight never tasted so clean.

Taxis try to slip around
and honk when they can’t.
The wind is smoky off
their frustrated idling
and though my fingers can’t
find warmth in
the recesses of my sweatshirt
I’m still annoyed

I don’t think I’ll make it
“Around one, maybe?”
even though we both knew
it was as exact as if he’d
sent me an invitation
It’s not the face I remember,
handsome as it was
but the friendliness
in a place where friendliness
is not always permitted

12: 40
The cold is
Oct 06

Riding Dreams

dreams are the wild stallions of our lives

             flying between
                                             and unreliability
                   hard to find
   hard to tame
                   hard to let go
every walker who stays clinging
               to the earth
needs to
              taste the wind
grab hold of
           adventure’s mane
and see where he takes you
    stop trudging
through endless streams
               when you could be
galloping free

                             yet only fools
             refuse to choose a steed c a r  e  f  u   l      l          y
          for hope may take you                                               beyond                                                                           where you wish to go
       or throw you into the mud
and grow bruises beneath your skin