Poetry · Writing

Modifying History – Long Term Memory

I have a hard time remembering what it was like before I met you.

I can see events, days like flipping through a photo album

but it’s like it was a different me

a shadow or a copy living in my shoes

the ones my aunt gave me on my birthday

how did you get them- they were in my closet.

I can see a day that happened last year but

I ended the day talking to you

future me tellin’ me stop being me

and go get that girl.

You like to tell me I’m forgetful-

but I’ll never forget what you make me feel

you make me want to rewrite this photo album

walk you through it like a history class

changing majors giving you a D for missing class

and A for being on time-

I think I’ve chased you before,

not this me another me not the me in the shadow a different me

I’ve always chased you

throughout history.

Poetry · Writing

A Million Words – A Chapter Washed In Virgin Oil

I use to paint, nothing more than a hobby

a brush stroke to free a painful afternoon

like letting a bird free from her cage

and we sang the same song.

A re-centering tool- it’s what a friend called it

can call her Liz – and Liz added

lets take it a step further lets paint outside.

Got in a jeep with the doors missing

shoes at home brushes in the car

wind in our hair hand on her thigh

hers in my hair-

we came to a cliff overlooking truly nothing

and she said-

fill it with paint

and the Sherlock in me was ready with the bucket of Salt Blue ready to fill every corner but no

the Watson approach- a pond once existed here-

a family of ducks all beautiful and kids brought them lunch and watched them like a free zoo

couples posed on rocks, these aren’t your every day rocks no these are fucking boulders

the kind Indiana Jones sees in his nightmares.

a pair of green trees with rings visible on the outside

older couples would come to carve knots on them – another ring for a happy ring

that passes through

and during the night sky- shitty teenagers would come and have a bonfire

cheap beer and loud music, they would count all the stars

and catalogue them like files a through z and

they danced until the ducks came the next morning.

It was their shift.


and we packed our paint- we left two brushes behind

for the next chapter.

Poetry · Writing

Missing Flights – Young Amy

You can find me, at the bar

half down a shot and half callin’ for another

girls name half out of my mouth an evening lived in infamy

young Amy rode a one seater plane

first class sip of orange juice.


at the bar

half into another

leavin’ a tale at the bar like a weary traveler

on the way to a plane

to catch another flight

to another bar

to tell the same story

on a different line wondering why the story never changes

how the tellings never evolved from ear to ear.

In a home that I recognize from dreams of a young child

making a drink in my own bar

remembering the stories I lived in another

it’s a little different, lost and confused

with a droopy eye, almost asking for it-

and I’ll feel something close to uneasy

but after another drink

it’s a different story.

Poetry · Writing

Reading Faces

her eyes told it all-
black rings
one for each month.
she doesn’t count the one on her finger
he claims to wash the war paint away
but it won’t come off her eyes.
he doesn’t know
every time he picks up the rag
he’ll only add another ring
i believe- he means well
but he could never begin
to understand
what it is to have her face.

Poetry · Writing


There’s no answer and you called twice

don’t bother leavin’ a message, I’ll leave it on read

still puttin’ me to sleep with your roundhead

crakin’ eggs and you’ll still be knocking

worked all night and they’re still rocking

hell of a promise and I’ll drop a sonnet

workin’ to hard sleeptalkin’ an told Pusha about Adonis

but ya’ll still here and

we keep on pushing your buttons.

But let’s pretend that everything is alright

we keep pretending that everything is alright

so lets just keep it movin’

open a mall on my arm

a hits farm few firearms until I set off the fire alarm

and I’m still here pumpin’ for your pleasure

but catch me slippin’ makin’ headlines

not a feature on Take Care

but take care- take a shot for me

not just a fruit tree presents under the christmas tree

where is my queen bee

gone for the night, but

we keep on pushing your buttons.

Poetry · Writing

Alcohol in Season

Tonight- we will drink until our eyes roll out

down the street

you can’t bare to let your heart follow

but you can’t take your eyes off her

so will drink until our stomachs come out of our throats

those butterflies have been living there

and they haven’t paid rent

so they need to go

so drunk will we forget names

but the invisible tattoo on your wrist

forehead lips tongue blood

like a name tag that I stole to get in

I can never forget

so will drink- to waste time

to borrow a few seconds of clarity

you wander in the parts I want to close off

but you keep the store open

like a holiday that never ends

so will drink

to hope that you are drinking too

Poetry · Writing

Moving Day

We all- carry luggage across every street we cross

in conversations with each person we meet

can’t see it under your fancy microscope

out of view from your telescope

it’s not a star shining bright

or a molecule deep inside

it’s our outdated calendars.

I see how heavy your bags are, heavier than the next

and I love you more than the next

so I’ll carry the weight

just to soften yours

you say

it’s not my responsibility

this is my burden to bury

the shovel was handed to me by my weaknesses

shouted to dig and dig and bury my former self

with this forty pound lug next to the old me

shriveled and shaken and not ready to exit

but for me to exist

it can’t.

I helped an older lady unload her car

full of boxes with labels on the side

she was saying her grandson was late

but will be here shortly

and that she was grateful

she tried to give me money

but I couldn’t take it-

at first.

You can’t see it

but my luggage is hidden-

on an unmarked street corner

with an old family blanket covering it,

was evicted the other day

and I want to move in with you

share plates and stories and towels

bury our faces in noodles and cheap wine

this luggage isn’t heavy, when carried by two

those flights of stairs

aren’t so scary

no need to fret extra scuff marks and falling items

can just move in

right into my heart.

Poetry · Writing

Ravaged Ingredients

It was only tragic the first time,

battered and beaten- a simple reciepe

abuse brownies

the black under my eyes

oh don’t worry I tell everyone it’s from lack of sleep

I believe it myself now

a wisk and baked at four hundred degrees

cleaned up the mess with a rag

just a little soap

and it never happened.

Poetry · Writing

Hundred Faces

When you’re not around- my skin is dry

love cares for me brings me back to life feeling the floor through every single molecule

and now you’re a piece of me.

A Mosaic of a body

a real Frankenstein from two decades of puzzle pieces

hundreds of faces

but only several captured on my torso

and yours

it covers my heart.

Some are large

some the size of a nickel

but their compliment follows me like its own heartbeat

beating through my veins and taking each step with me and they have their own shadow.

Your voice-

adds commentary

drink more water

eat something for fucking sake

and it’s all in your lovely voice

people turn their heads like I’m having a conversation with myself

crazy in the mind crazy in the heart

fearless in my walk

because my step is one and with hundreds.

Poetry · Writing

Jumping a Moon on a Horse

the night has been rinsed

smokin’ blue boon

and good noon past moon.


you’re high my friend

the mirror can only say

raise the sign

objects further then they appear

ankles broken on the cross

Achilles on the horse

sky is clouded smoke

and the only life blower

is your shooting star

screaming to keep your shit in line

and stop doing the lines

jumping rhymes

on that horse

it’s the trojan way