Running On


My friends think you’re a bitch
though I’ve uttered angry woe
I can’t help but defend
your intentions
like you are still my own

If I had to name one thing that I miss
my answer would be
one long run-on sentence:




Then the timeline decays to now
in my reminiscence
and my sentence has found its pause –

a pang
my legs go numb

What I’ve lost
is the gray of my thumb

The flowers can’t find their green
and my songs can’t find their sing
and my body is grieving
every night our atoms are universes apart
and nobody could fathom my heart

when they call you a bitch
or say they’re not surprised that we split

I don’t know if they’re right
but I know
I can’t scratch this itch
and I’m terrified
you’re the only one who can reach it

I can’t teach it,
the un-rightness
of our loveseparated
but the night is your absence
and my chest it tightens
and all I have to explain it
is a poem of run-on sentences
for my love no longer of likeness


The Alchemist .. As I Re-Read

I am the alchemist
and I am the shepherd
I am the baker
and I am the king,
I am the Englishman
and I am the thief,
I am the voice beside your Dream

Something is missing,
something is Sought:
an omen which brought me
to read this story once more
I am a shepherd
who cannot part with his flock

Things are not as they should be,
as I cannot hear but a whisper
from the Soul of the World

I search maniacally,
for this Voice
in all things..

I get drunk often
searching for my Spirit
I read magnificent books
or delve deep into the past,
or dissect strangers
until they are friends

I watch the moment of truth
for others
achieving their Fate
and cry with joy
for their disbelief and perfection
as though it is my own

Sometimes I drink
until I scrape my knuckles
against the wall
and bleed just for to see the Red

Sometimes I fly through space
searching for some star
to awaken my Destiny

I am the alchemist,
I am the shepherd
I am the Voice
I am me

Raisin’ A Ruckus

I want to destroy
the Morning
and give birth to
the Day

My stomach is churning
knuckles burning
with cessation
I am not prolific,
only a question

It’s five a.m.
I’m always the last awake

I like talking to myself
I like singing songs
I can See what can’t belong

I am everywhere
and the pain of
my biology
requires much contemplation
and my soul
is beyond
Divine Consultation

I leave a lot behind –
Is it poetic riddle
or a loss of sleep?

New Day Year

Downtown Christmas lights
are overdue today
Today is new
Every day is new
I suppose
But today I am new
I do not know how
But I am
I breathe I see
Oxygen is crisp wind
tickling my heart
Swaying grass
imbibed to skin
Insides are twirling
Soul has arteries, They are
bursting from too much
Too much
Yesterday is dead
so I died with her
There are not balloons on my porch
but I imagine there could be –
Celebration is due
There are oranges at my window
There is nothing but me,
The air
There are blues and yellows on the pillow, under my case
paid and bought for only me
Green for heart, Green for feet
Today is alive
as I am as I
As yesterday is:
Overdue, expected.

Five Haikus

I found a box of
my happiest memories
you were always there

He held her roughly
to the dirty ground at night;
she rose up like God

Sleeping cows woke up,
three a.m., a girl’s voice screaming
“Help me, I’m in love!”

Winter brought my eyes
back without secrets or lies

Where is my jacket?

What is a poem
without any lips to kiss?
…a haiku like this.

family ofa frequent future

(I wrote this when I was 19 about my best friends and our promises to be friends forever. We don’t talk as much now.)


my friends and i

can’t be apart

(like a family who is dreading the end)


we talk about how we don’t feel real ever

and how the voices in my head

are ok

to hear

and how

we are always lost and enthusiastic in the middle of the night

and that’s ok



we talk about our dead generation

how the internet taught us that

the world is fading slowly from within

and its ok



we talk about drugs

and how we want them now!

cos it’s the only fun left

the last rebellion for our minds


we talk about love, sex

how we want passion

but settle for alcohol tirades

on 6th street

and end up in strange beds

why can’t anyone hold us at night?


we talk about death

when we watch the sunrise

tapping feet pale faces bleeding lips

and three packs of cigarettes

that we regret


we talk about the future

how it is here

and coming too fast still

please don’t go, we say

we belong here, we say

but won’t we be unfulfilled adults

and go our separate ways?


we talk mostly

about the love we share together

the warm kisses to cheeks and foreheads

the vinyls playing while we dance

and how

everything else

doesn’t matter



it’s ok