Day 7: Fingers

On the surface of her surname that lingered in the air, I drew a sky blue balloon to reflect the clouds painted on her ceiling and watched it float through her roof, up away from the fooled sheets that would remain well kept for as long as I was to be acquainted with them. I … Continue reading Day 7: Fingers

Day 6: Hero

It's the quiet nights that linger there, Betwixt the stirring of coffee alone, And the smile that proceeded each bite and Gentle crunch of your twist ice cream cone. Flurried moments flicker through my thoughts just as your full plump lips upon my neck, though looking back, for nearly three years I'd say it's been … Continue reading Day 6: Hero

The Last Tock

On the day that my silver watch sheds its last Ticking second onto the surface of my skin, I will be dancing. I say this with certainty because dancing Is something that I do every day of my life Whether it be in invitation or in exile, In joy or in awkwardness. Nonetheless my watch … Continue reading The Last Tock

Day 4: Animals

There is an inherent mystery to this world. It's a secret never spoken because, simply, it can't be. Someone tries, the words get caught in the throat, cleared out with a cough and are never heard from again. This secret, as long as we continue to scratch the surface of truth, using our senses to … Continue reading Day 4: Animals

Crystalline, The Pond And I See The Stones

I see a future peppered with the clotted idea that creativity sectioned off in the world, Location, location, location, You joke, you prod, But the world that I see is cut like that, sweet sugar cookie severance, Hot out of the oven of idea slinging, of creation, Where do the artists flock to? This is … Continue reading Crystalline, The Pond And I See The Stones

Where is your poetry?

Where is your poetry? Where does your line break between thoughts of the onion that you finely chopped into your omelette, nearly missing your finger, and the man that you julienned and stuck beneath the floor boards. Where is your poetry? Oh, that my heart could make a sound louder than the constant battle cry … Continue reading Where is your poetry?

Day 2: Journey

Daring, daring, the dearly dirigible tumble weed at its plain, Dry with dust and ever dreading the drip drip dropping of the lurid rain, Canvased sneakers neath my feet Know the tumbleweed's no foe too fleet, As they tread might'ly onward against the westward tracks of the train. Dust that has covered the lands since … Continue reading Day 2: Journey