We all make decisions for a reason,

These dreams of dancing alone
In front of a smile
No moving feet,
Just a crowfooted grin,
Strong hands,
a formidable stance
Overshadowing this
Skipping heart beat.

You just don't understand.

Time seems right,
Instincts know the drill of a heel
On frozen cement equals
No less than a well
Stop sign.



Ever listen to a song, and find
Memory's tail swaying just out of reach?
Colored water,
Reaching up to the knee,
Stranded nostalgia looking for a ride
Seasoned dialogue,
Frigid Sunsets.
Minutes pass, and slowly
The tail retreats into the shadows.
Whispers of it's coat,
Silkening the ground,
Like dust.



The sound of a love letter,
Humming a song of secret wishes.

Your heart hidden beneath a bottle cap,
Pieces of my own under your fingernails.

Losing the weight of each tear drop,
Replaced by threads of muscle,
Stubborn against the present washboard obstacles.

The cat's cry a siren of forgiveness,
Wisdom in a tail flick.

We will be fine.




If this were a letter, I'd describe the scent your skin has left in the space between each breath. I've developed a heart murmur that quakes with each sigh, the company of which surprisingly comforts while the hum of the heater rocks me to sleep.

If home were something less of a place I see when I close my eyes, I'd approach the door with optimism, the daydreams of our bodies dancing in the rhythm of so many melodies at once.

If I were less hopeful, the pieces of my heart would crumble, the ink spilling forth into puddles shaped like clasped hands.

Your hands write poetry across time in cloud form. Our eyes speak to each other through smoke circles the planes make as they skate the skies between...

If I could have one wish, it would be your arms, my waist, and so many whispered love poems.

If today had a name, it would be simple.

I love you.
I see you.
Close your eyes.



Soul Foundation

Dear Soul,

I see you standing up after bearing your thighs to the trial of being a woman. You've been reminded of all you've survived from. Footsteps hurt; but the pain is in your mind. Recognition of the sting before its occurrence means you'll no longer run from what you know will come.

I see you realizing that standing still is the solution to learning.

Writing slowly, aching from the silence that has sat in your bones; afraid of the outcome. Fear stills so much action, but you're comforted.
I see you growling from the inside, a pride in knowing everything comes in its time.

Grip hands, soaked through with certainty.
Seek warmth from the burning of the flame you were born stilling.

Lay in the sun, or in the shadow with grace.

Each new day
Conquers Fear's
Fragile ground with
You've had from the very


A Life Behind Glass

I’m watching the roof soak up the rain my living room window kisses.
Buses sweep the ground in rapid thrushes at the foot of my bed.
Writing desk plays the role of a dining table when needed, and the
Sun is just moments away from alighting the colorful cave of the home
I built with pining strips of questioning.
Survival around the bend,
Success open to interpretation.
Sadly, not a hammock in sight.


Like An Amputees Phantom Itch - Rachel McKibbens

I recently wrote a review on Rachel McKibbens' debut poetry collection.

That volume of her work really pulled me out of a moment of darkness, and so I highly recommend picking up a copy.

Pink Elephant

I hope you enjoy it. More may be on the way...


Scarred Flesh, Salvaged Heart

I see you rising from below ground,
Knuckles white against the yellowed bronze
Of your suitcase handle.
See you smile as my hair swings behind me,
Felt our eyelashes kiss before opening,
Peeked a glance to find your hand waiting across the street,
Palm open.
Heard you introduce me to your friends in the distance,
Your footsteps no longer foreign.
Felt you scrape your nails across my breasts,
Heard you whisper persuasively,

It doesn't hurt,
It feels just fine...

But I never felt your smile warming my eyes upon waking.
I heard you yell, but
I never heard you sigh.

Its a transition of learning,
These trembling heartstrings being strengthened
by practice.

The truth begets the past because the present means,

He loves me just right.