Oct 06


In the ripeness of the morning

You asked, what are we but 
purple skies, bruised and hidden
behind tasteless wine?

I did not answer you then,
being swayed by the clashing
air, bitter seeds and peels crushed
beneath my tongue,
my mind already tasting regret

Now, in the decaying eve, I wish I told you,
maybe secretly we are
glittering grapes, lucky like
amethyst, filled to spilling point
of faith and sun-warmed sugar

I want to whisper to you, sun gently rising
maybe secretly we are 
royal purple, not a cheap aubergine,
crystals polished into fine
silver dust, entrancing moonlight
into our embraces,

in the ripeness of the morning

Sep 25

You are light

Sep 18

Past Apples

Aug 26


Glossy tinted windows
glisten with perfectly placed dew drops.
Neatly dusted window sills
hold vibrant plants, accentuating
the picture-perfect palaces.
Lily-white picket fences,
lined, well-kept lawns,

It’s all the same.

The sun reflects brilliantly
against concrete birdbaths,
the seemingly impeccable aura 
radiates from house to house,
but the true terribleness of it all
goes unnoticed.

Papery skinned women
enter the houses after their dull nine-to-fives,
their grey-tinged skin and hair
hanging limp on their bodies.

They're all the same.

Inside the supposed trophy homes,
the graphite-colored walls expose
countless cracks and splinters.
Shattered photo frames and ceramic plates 
scatter the remains of the floors,
leading up to a hole in the ground. 
Stomped-on mirrors and torn-up bills
sit stuffed into crooked dressers.
Aug 19


Aug 07


Jun 12

Jun 02

when the alphabet soup

when the alphabet soup
is overturned by 
the lackadaisical elbow--
or simply a clumsy forearm, 
watch the red run down the 
white cloth, watch the child’s 
blocks cascade, watch my 
voicecords fail to sing. oh 
how language 
motionless is but 
meaning still drips diddly-do 
from my teeth in drouswon, 

May 16


I am lost in a sea of trouble;
yet in this sea a treasure I've found
Rise, I will save myself from these waters
of cutting diamonds and blinding white;
With my dears and my clinkering soul
captured in the belly of blue china;
Yearning to see tiny nesting birds
to learn the rhythm of good, not evil
And clasp hands with mortal angels
to free human sadness, despair and greed
Joy, a treasure I've found at last;
lost in a sea of trouble.