Poetry · Writing


I have to write.

I stare at this blank page

and it stares back

taunts me.

It feeds off me

like a leech it

feast on my fears for breakfast

and sips my anxiety like tea.

Never satisfied

until I write.

So here I sit

Staring through this open window

waiting for the magic.

From a home I can’t explain

neighbor of imagination

down the block from love

Or is it hate.

Next to the house that always cooks barbecue.

That smell that sweeps the block

through open windows

love hate relationship with your belly

as it fights for something more.

Yet, here I sit

waiting for the magic.

Watching this orange fuck

slowly crush our stars

gathering Universal’s Minions

calling himself Gru

wasting on a par 4

stealing candy from unborn babies

from the home that he

is burning to the ground.

Closing our window

after only a few months



Need to-

Look for the magic.

Gather fingertips

the window is still open


Don’t fly

We still have to fight.


Here I stand.


silent page.

Starting at the open window.

Needing to make humans think

think twice

and tell them a lie

that this window

Will always be open.

Poetry · Writing

the day before yesterday

Planning for the future

with a hammer

and a couple nails.

It’s a joke

I know

but it’s the truth.

The nails are a bit rusted

felt like I should mention that.

Bent too.

Head to Home Depot

to have your card rejected

but find a two by four

on the way home.


Buddy said she had

some parts for me,

pity screw.

Looking up already,

call it a note worthy day.


Poetry · Writing


The black panther lives in the rainforest.

This is the home of Faith.

The promising work of a florist.

Home forever even as a wraith.


Enchanting the world with sunny kisses.

Always with you like a reprise.

True nature’s cheery missus.

In spring time, love is carried on the breeze.


Her beauty undeniable by all.

All wanted to see what she could achieve.

Impossible to foresee thee befall.

This panther bows as she takes her leave.


All panthers ache and weep.

Rest now in your beauty sleep.


Poetry · Writing

fun house

bringing the table to dinner

the house was easy to find like they said,

upside down with a boston terrier outside-

the laughing medallion given at the door

a smile for us and a laugh for all, she said

the party had purple gas crawling the floor

we are all clowns

laughing at the moon like a pack-

musical chairs with masks

spin the bottle with acid

eyes flipped inside out

dancing to bulletproof

Poetry · Writing

after it all

i watched the way you moved

studying for the exam

no extensions or sick days

show up and shut up

i can’t fail:

in the morning mirrors will be broken

glasses will be shattered

my reflection will carry my sorrow

in baskets with ribbons

and the bell is my nightmare

Poetry · Writing

fear of the planet

flying and you are the wings

the ground is the past

we’re above that now

sinking ships we’re all afloat now

focused on me and now i’m in lift off

two seats and rain checks cashed in

a lime or two and soft skin

i see your moves and the way you spin

girl i wonder where you have been

when i was on the ground

flapping my wings like an idiot

just wanting to leave the ground

Poetry · Writing


it’s what home smells like

the aroma carries my clothes in my place

like a soft hand across my cheek


a memory shaped in a circle


a reminder that you were here,

but when the scent fades

i crave you

a little taste to carry me for the week and the next

to be closer to home

found on the tip of your lips

the palm of your hands around my waist

leaving your lavender imprint on my chest

burning deep enough

so home is always with me

Poetry · Writing

two times

i want it more than you

so keep my name out of your mouth

i don’t have the ego for this era

and it’s on the low

you can read my name from your couch

you’ll go to the internet and vouch

that your time was stolen

that i never punched out

this wasn’t your shift

and this isn’t overtime

i’ve been here putting in two times

working two times as hard

putting in two times the effort

and you’ll complain two times as much

but i never learned your name

but you know my story

Poetry · Writing

thirty and counting

i worry that i’ve wrote it before

said it before

and the words lose meaning

like white out to a dictionary

i mutter white noise

it’s not that this was my goal

or i over say these words

i don’t want you to question or forget

i don’t believe in ten seconds you’ll forget

it’s the eleventh i want to be remembered

and after the twelfth i’ll be there to hold you

thirty i’ll build you a fort that we can live in

a map will be in your email in the morning

Poetry · Writing

sitting on a borrowed porch

on a porch

not my porch, a quiet family owns this porch

they go away on the weekends

i like to imagine they have a country house so their kids can play-

i feel apart of it when i sit here

the tire swing

star-gazing past our bedtime

never going to sleep cold,

on the porch

i go to sleep tucked in with a kiss on the cheek

but like a dream it’ll end

in the morning they’ll return

and i’ll be gone