•January 31, 2017 • Leave a Comment
Don’t tell me which way the wind blows.
Take me into the air
so high the sun sighs
and drop me
scrambling and flailing
screaming and wailing
without any constraint
to inhibit what comes naturally –
I’d be bawling if my eyes
weren’t so dry
through vortexes of
the most vibrant reds and oranges I have ever seen and I reach out to touch
one and it
laughing, I chase it down –
Flush in my impression of the earth
and suppose the clouds once more
pretending them the same.
•September 5, 2016 • Leave a Comment
Good morning to another day.
Good morning to my friends, and
Good morning to my family.
Good morning to the daily hymn of songbirds, to the gentle hush of the wind as it tickles the trees. Good morning to hope.
Good morning to my hope; to the pastel masterpiece spilling light across the sky. Good morning to my metaphors; to my mirror, to my smile and cocked eyebrow, to confidence. Good morning to confidence.
Good morning to questions, and to my questions. Good morning to inspiration, and drive, and progress and words and words, and my mania. Good morning to the sturdy promise of stasis, its winding uphill path.
Good morning to reality; to the gravity of necessity; to my humility. Good morning to hesitation, and to doubt, and to shallow vows; good morning to the colorless threat of stasis, its slick downhill spiral.
Good morning to the truth, and to my balance; to moral certainty and crippling anxiety; to intuition and wasted chances; to pain and to numbness; to my endurance, and to love.
Good morning to love.
•May 10, 2015 • Leave a Comment
Give me one more shell
to crawl out of; I can prove
that it’s not a dud.
•May 4, 2015 • Leave a Comment
being an asshole
is exactly the same as
being a hero
•April 29, 2015 • Leave a Comment
Infuriate a heart of hate
with nothing but a smile
Reject regret and love will let
your heart rest all the while
Excuse the ruse when others choose
to cut your place in line
Cause we can see clear past the ‘me’
and the spot we’ve got’s just fine.
•May 28, 2014 • 1 Comment
Little by little
The anthill became a shrine
And all the work stopped
•May 13, 2014 • Leave a Comment
In the worst parts of ourselves,
where even our own name dares not tread –
in the final chamber of our hearts,
and in the deepest recesses of our soul,
a voice – the nymph – Echo
calls out to all the beauty it sees –
ashamed in spite of itself,
but too full of wonder and desire
to ignore the urge to try
just one more time,
“Who are you?”