writing
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What am I Supposed to Be?
You aren’t supposed to be anything. You’re supposed to be an upright ape, Foraging for berries somewhere in the Sahel. Continue reading
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Joanies Café
No wonder the place went out of business, Never saw anyone that came pay. Even the cats got free room and board, Joanie had a love for any stray, Continue reading
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The Destiny of My Poems
I hide them by mistake, In pages of journals, and in the margins of books, Or I leave them etched into walls or tree trunks, Continue reading
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Crepitus
A poem from my time working as a paramedic- I’m not supposed to know the word crepitus, Let alone the sound, Or the grating feeling of it in my hands. Continue reading
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Back to Basics
With ears that listen, To sounds that are more than just funny vibrations in the air. Raindrops pattering cascading through leaves. Continue reading
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An Ode to The Dandelion
The dandelion reaching for the sun, Doesn’t know it’s millions of miles away. I like to think it thinks it will touch it someday. Continue reading
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The Word Just
I just hate the word “just” That I just so stubbornly say To just belittle my words Just before I send them away Continue reading
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Burlap Cubicles
I feel like a potato in a potato sack. Covered in coarse, rough, Burlap. Continue reading
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Mayday Mayday Mayday
Modern-day knight in iridescent Kevlar, riding on a red horse, veiled and obscured. If the fires don’t kill him, then the cancer will. Continue reading
Hole In The Hedgerow 