Naked words float along the stream

Nothing but self fulfilling prophecies

A spiral of confessions melts off my skin

And the wandering eyes drift onward

When I come clean

These words only cut me as I sink along the bend

Under the waves of melancholy memories

I’m a prisoner wailing to a siren

And no one knows where to find me


Transit Gloria


As we climb towards the sky
My eyes dart to two marionettes crunched together in a neat, black frame
Their blue veins dance like a tango of constellations in the dim light,
gripping each other so tightly from fervent fear of letting go.
There is a weightlessness here,
A sensory deprivation flooded with waiting and angst.
We came here to escape ourselves, didn’t we?
I smile at the stranger with hollowed eyes.
The gravity of the world has left her without one.
“These connections are ephemeral,” I think to myself,
as one solemn soul is replaced by another.
The painful bleakness of this place is placated by the reminder of my beating heart.
I only wait for its blood to change colors as I soar higher.
So that I can be full of oxygen, like everyone else.

Painted Minds

Painting the walls of my mind like an inspired child. Fingers too small to hold the colors of the world.
The melodies of morning draw curtains on the road. And in this music box a carousel of animals transforms into an ecstasy of blur. And nothing is clearer or more beautiful than the loss of form.
As the sun cascades through eyelashes and let’s innocence push past the stones,
Love floods like a river of freckles on a baby’s nose.
Like the crooked marks that bring life to a page.
Like the walls that become the dreams of our youth.
Like the trees that plant kisses on a soul.
Like the skin that carries the lives of our bones.

And in these moments the heart speaks, fingers grow bigger and crayons give into the gravity of the world. And trying to understand becomes absolute as feeling transforms into a word.
Here we are as lonely souls, hearts outstretched for a hand to hold.
Here I am a child painting on my wall until my voice is earned.
And nothing is clearer or more beautiful than the loss of form. And the ways in which with hopeful eyes we can be anything or anyone.




My eyes could only focus on the curtained view of an elsewhere place as I stared out of your window that day.
Knowing what was beyond the broken, you stitched together the freckles of my back as it breathed with heavy, tear stained songs. Remnants of my youth that trickled beside an ink-ladened parade of scars danced in the day.
And I watched you in parts, as the whole of me diluted in the poison that I made.
The smoke as it evaporated from your teeth.
The strands of your hair that filled with color as the sun gilded you with light.
The lips that never parted but still smiled with sweetness
I wondered how young you were when you lost your laugh and if I was in another mirror wistfully searching for mine to return.
An innocent but insufferable desire to fall so sweetly into a warm, dark place left us wrapped beneath a veil amidst the fragmented; tenderly and beautifully alone.

Fruit and Bright Colors

The girl with cherries on her shirt
Eats donuts,
Inconspicuously wiping frosting off her pants
Covers her mouth as she laughs
And passes by the mirror before she gets a chance
To wash her hands
The girl with cherries on her shirt
Talks to lonely spirits around her bed
Leaves her skirt, worn and un-hemmed
Sits in the library to eat her food
Smiles at a little girl with braids who peeks over the fence, and asks,
“What’s over there?”
The girl with cherries on her shirt
Tries to feel closer to her bones
Hops into cars with strange boys
Wears bright lipstick to match her clothes
Turns up the music, just the way they’d like
The girl with cherries on her shirt
Doesn’t talk when she’s asked
Finds love doesn’t choose easily
Hides behind objects of glass
Let’s the past sleep behind her eyes,
Where it can always be seen
The girl with cherries on her shirt
Sees in black and white
Only wears monochrome to match her eyes
Adds a bit of salt to her showers
Looks at her mother and asks,
“What’s over there?”

Summer’s End

I’ll take a drink, one for my friend,
Shadowed figures standing in the shallow end
Our faces met.
Did we see through our souls, the changes to come?
The actions that meant the words we felt,
The sheets gathered by the bed?
I wondered when you unraveled my skin, how much blood you found underneath.
How many touches you could count until we fell asleep,
And awoke again to a world that both hurt us.
Did I become a part of that world?

The waters are still.
Tonight I wake and find my reach unmet by a friend, unmet by a love.
An empty breath.
A Summer’s bliss smothered by salty tides
I remember your laugh as I resist the night,
And drift alone into the deep.