Lately, I've been very grateful for the rain
It's given me the time to not water you.
It's given me the space to excuse.
It's not held me accountable.
It's made me more tired.
It's dripped it's drops so that I can ignore you.

Lately, I've been more grateful for the rain
because when otherwise, would I have time to dig this hole?

They aren’t any more disruptive to the eye than any of the other buildings,
Human shelters mingle with the bark of the trees that line the dirt road like they have always been.
Written into history, together, man made and natural things.
Because nature's only language is song, everything else is mans.
The curious eye doesn’t skip a beat.
But your wall stands for so much more,
The white color a stanch contrast to the warm hues
that have grown up with the land.
Because we understand walls,
But what, we’d ask, are you protecting against?
Or who?

Lately I haven't been sleeping well,
I do not have the time,
My gram never read me the bible
but she planted in my mind
Ideas of living easy,
Brand names became divine,
it's not about the things or goods,
instead it's peace of mind.
If you cannot understand,
I'll try to speak to you
Philippians 4:8
says "whatever is true,
noble, right, pure, lovely,
worthy of your praise,
these things should consume your thoughts
all through out your days.
So get dressed in Sunday's best,
it's the christian thing to do,
but while you're reading scripture,
I won't be in the pews.
Because I won't just sit and wait
to cash in on peace of mind,
While everyone one else' sleepin,
I'll be on the grind.

The apocalypse brings cotton candy skies,
it is more beautiful than once supposed.
There is terror in the state of the world
But with it, the beauty, juxtapose.

While fires still rage down below,
even as day begins to fade.
The sunset stops you in your tracks
and takes your breath away.

The street lights buzz mid afternoon
intended light in the darkness of days.
but like the sun in the sky above
it only stands to illuminate the haze.

The apocalypse brings forests of snow white corals
it is more beautiful than once supposed.
The ocean has begun its game of chest
Death's strategy played unopposed.

Marble statues line the oceans' hues
Life and color have already fled
What was once a thriving coral reef
lies stagnant and desolate instead.

It's elegance is like fresh snow
A quiet field of white
It's hard to turn your eyes from God
though you know it's not quite right.

The apocalypse brings protests in the street
the people's message is well known
United cries for justice and peace
Interrupted when tear gas is thrown.

Say his name painted all around,
Harmony is the peoples' dream
A commonality of hope
bounce off shields of the swat team.

It's a wonder to see the united rise
Love kissing us all awake
For the betterment of all that live
shot down by fear and hate.

The apocalypse brings with it the beauty of life
Right before the end
At least enjoy the majesty
Before we all descend.

I was told once the brain is our biggest enemy,
Thinking; the down fall of a species.
At the time
I couldn’t have disagreed more.
For the brain, as I thought, was what makes us feel,
See, understand, move.
But then I felt it
Certain and instant
The sound escaped my mouth
Without hesitation, without any thought what so ever
Instinctual and unrefined.
It was a pain I’ve felt emotionally,
Tried to describe though poetry,
Brought to a physical reality,
Throbbing with tangibility.
The welt began to grow
the brain took back it’s rein
leaving me with only a mocking pretense of black and yellow stripes

And a feeling
With which too over think.

Only the most vulnerable were present
The strongest had left with the sun.
The rolling hills were many shades of green and brown,
painted in detail was the earth and the sky.

The contrast of the flag
bold and unforgiving
would have waved above the camp
while it whistled a soft eerie song of lies.

The signs were all there
and spread throughout
but she did not speak his language
the language of the weak.

And as the men rolled in,
drunk with power and artillery
His eyes spoke of sadness and self hatred
while his body continued on to find worth.

We had an agreement
and I followed the rules
But alas, you danced through the night
moonlight illuminated the trail of destruction.

Even you knew it went to far
Passing the plains I too,
wish I could have hidden in the river banks
to avoid the surprise of the massacre.

The clouds would have bare witness
along with Sol, Sinfeild, Tuna, and the like
while betrayal slid his fingers along her curves
or ripped the innocence from the world.

The white flag of peace
carelessly splattered with red
would only be remembered and reminded
years later, recalled.

As I looked at those hills
my heart grew cold and unforgiving
and felt the spirits of the betrayed
all around, making it hard to take in air.

And somehow, I,
I am the one who must forgive
like those that have forgiven from the past
because hate in a heart leaves no room for love.

But what is love
what is peace
but an ideal
waiting to be betrayed by you.

Mary said it best,
"one day you finally knew,
what you had to do, and begun..."
Every piece of past pieced to
zoom out, further out,
until it comes into focus.
The bigger picture for you to
cling on to. If the devil
is in the details, I have
lead my life under his red guidance.

It’s nice the way we all can see the trees,
Even if we can’t always see the difference.
The greens maybe a sort of color evolved
and we view the trunks as just things to climb.
But that does not dull the rainbow’s spectrum,
Perhaps that just changes the colors being seen.

There it goes,
It's not mine anymore.
I made a mistake, that part is true,
but you grabbed hold of it and shook the life out of it.
Honestly, it wasn't even that fun while it lasted, mostly
it was exhausting. I haven't yet decided
if I let this happen or if you made it happen.

But really either way, I
don't care. So what, dumb things happen all the time.
No one was complaining before.
In fact,
they will all already be there. So it'll just be the four of us, miserable.

Remaining is the question,
do you suffer, or do I?

It seems appropriate that today,
the sun stay hidden.
Because when the sun is out,
it's impossible to feel complete sadness,
it's hard to feel invisible and alone.
For the sun brings with it,
the trees, and the leaves, and the birds, and the breeze.
The sun has a way of warming your bones,
kissing you gently and smiling softly.
Today, it is appropriate that the sun not come out
because if it were around,
I could not stand to be so sad and lost and alone.
But somehow the sun knew to stay away
because this feeling is too great a weight
to be able to burn away like a cloud.
It is appropriate that the sun remain hidden today
because only the grey sky could possibly match this feeling.

I know there’s magic in you
I knew first time we met.
You’ve always held me tight,
At times, something I regret.
But in the end it's you
You’ve always been the one,
To love me when I can’t be
and lift me like the sun.
I barely speak your language
Our love can be the gun
To shoot you with the sadness
Like a needle, take the plunge.
Dive deeper to the bottom,
I’ll be with you the whole time.
Don’t know if it’s darkness, light, or love,
Either way we’re going blind.

The smell of cheap coffee reminds me of you
Reminds me of your grit
Your rough hands
It reminds me of how delicate you are
How guarded and misunderstood you have become
The glass of the French press still catches the light similarly
I think of you when I see an old car, when I hear an engine rev
You’re everywhere and no where at the same time

It’s idea is preconceived that the
suffering is reprieved-
Those that deserve the burn in turn
eternally lie with others scorned-
That hell is earned.

But I see flames here on earth.

What does my sister think as she buries her child from the latest bombing?
What does my brother think when he is being pinned down?
Are we to believe the devil is not present in that knee?

And what is my sister to think when she awakens to gun shots entering her innocent body?
What do we call the place that allows my brother to die at the hands of another?
How do I explain to the child that hates himself there may be something worse waiting for him?

Where are the rules with which to live by that I can give to the little boy that was touched by his pastor?
The very same pastor that informs him of this place called hell-
What should I tell the mother who buries her child without knowing why?

I see flames here on earth-

Perhaps hell is not a place to
go but instead-
It is a place we know.
And the devil that we fear-
is here.

It spread equal through night
as it did through the day
cholera choose victims
the lottery way.
For it's little to matter,
if you lived upstairs or down,
like the air that we breathe,
the threat always round.
It grabbed hold of the cities,
it's grip tight, unforgiving,
no wall could deter it,
no way to stay living.
While some of your neighbors,
stayed put, kept inside,
when cholera stuck,
they would not survive.
Normalcy gone,
with the rest it had fled,
to live was to say,
you're just not yet dead.

I’m kneeling at the alter,
The black cloth covering my face moves passively as I breathe in through my nose and quietly out my mouth.
The breathe of a yogi but out of context, out of noise, just trying to be there, for you, in that moment.
The pain over takes your body constantly, it has seeped into your blood and is throughout your existence now.
Empathy is where I stand, comfort is what I try to be. Warm, inviting, beautiful, like the wind in the trees of the spring mountain air.
But time passes, my head still bowed, in silent hope disguised as a prayer.
How long can we remain on our knees, they too grow tired of the kneeling.
And just outside, past the soft pallet of the stain glassed Windows, there is laughter.
I reach for your hand silently, look hopefully from you to the outside world.
Let us go enjoy the laughter, the breeze, we shall drink the lemonade and it shall quench our thirst.
But you are not yet ready to leave, your knees have taken all the kneeling they can, but your body is too weak to move.
How long before I go outside alone.

You were like an open book,
your life was a series of mixed messages,
Draped in the sheer silk of tragedy.
I don’t remember you, all of you,
whether that’s my fault or circumstance,
But I do remember moments,
Specifics, things that were uniquely yours.

I remember the roses,
I don’t know if I’ll ever forget.
They smelled like a fresh reminder
I didn’t give you enough credit.
It was not the roses, it was the detail.
The white door probably squealed when you opened it,
Mystery and illusiveness gone in an instant.

I never asked you how that all went,
Or when you actually did it.

My mind casts out nets when wondering
And from time to time,
It’ll catch you in its net and you will be brought to the surface.
I’ll remember you hated basketball,
But we’re always pointed in that direction.

I’ll remember your brother, your mom.
I never even asked you their names.
But I know them
And their story, your story,
Is now apart of my minds ocean.

And the way the end happened,
Your aunt called me…
And never called me back.
Why? What exactly did she say?
I can’t recall. It was all so… real.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it for a while.

At this point
It’s a matter of looking in the mirror
Finding the deepest part of your own soul,
Far deeper than the depps of the sea
Less tangible than the ocean floor.
And harnessing it.

Turns out, it’s not about money,

and it’s not about who you know.
Truly, it can be done without any real skill at all.
Like showing up on time for your life.

Sure, you can tell yourself you’re already late
But that’s so predictable, you’ve
Read that story a hundred times over,
Let’s pick something else.

You know what it’s going to take
To end up where you want to be.
So, are you going to do it?
Why not try because if all else fails,
At least you’ll have done what you set out to do.

Did you know?
That when you turn the lights off,
Your room comes alive--
And everything begins to dance!

The couches prefer to tango
And your clothes prefer to waltz.
While your shoes all do the salsa
Your books do summersaults!

Appliances like ballet
And the art just kind of sways.
Yes darkness can be scary
But do not be afraid.

Because your room comes alive
When you turn off your light-
So wish them happy dancing
When you say goodnight.

When you kissed me this morning,
it all seemed to melt away with the rising sun.
I couldn't sleep last night
unless that too was a dream.
Tossing, tossing, turning to stare
into the eyes of oblivion.

Can't get it off my mind.
Not sure if I care or care because
our secrets are now shared. Do
they whisper across the room,
pointing with only their eyes and ill will.

"Some would say you're cooler because you don't."

But no one really says anything, to our faces.

Perhaps my inner monologue will subside with the setting sun.

If you looked in her purse,
what a world you'd find,
Sugar packets, tooth picks,
the purse itself was a shrine.
Cheddar bay biscuits
wrapped in paper napkins,
Those were her favorite,
doggy back wins.
Ketchup and creamers,
things to dip, pick, and ****
Nothing ever got wasted,
howbeit how strange
howbeit how odd.
You see it never much mattered what there was to take,
Depression era babies procured without some much as a shake.
I think about you when I see Sweet N’Low,
I miss you so much Gram, just wanted you to know.

The buzz of the fly trapped in an open house.
An artificial cylinder tips in the whisper of the open windows.

Three months of one sided conversations.

The day the door wider ajar with anticipation.

A disturbance like a celebration interrupted.
Darkness locks behind, webs but a vail.
Silence a future unknown.

You have two lovely children
A new puppy too
(Probably a Doodle or something close to)
Those are the things
That make you- you.

You check all the boxes
You love Target and honey,
Who wouldn’t love perusing
And spending all kinds of money.

When his friends come around, you shuffle right off
And chat with the others mom’s in the loft.

The kids run around you and the other ladies
After all, you’ve got the motherly instincts, their your babies!

Dinner is shared because he has his grill
But cleaning up later requires your skill.

But what do you do for the social injustice,
What happened to your dreams?
What do you do when your life’s in a rut?
What if it’s not a man she loves?
What about the state of the world?

I guess I didn’t want to write a poem,
I just wanted to ask you how your priorities became what they are on instagram?

I can see it when you look at me
Dedication, love, a commitment to be
The kind of mommy you’ve always wanted to be
I see it- when you look at me

I notice all the things you do
All the places you take me and the beautiful views.
You do so much for me and without I’d be nothing
The love that you show me goes above all things.

When you look at me
Your smile and eyes light up the room
While they ask for attention
But it’s me you consume.

Im the first place you look
In both morning and night,
The hours we’re together
are such a delight.

It’s a tragedy when I die-


But you always bring me back
Never mind those other moments
Did I mention I’m back?

So post the best pic
Hope you took more than one
Arn’t you so lucky
Your whole life is being written down?

Tell your child to hush-
They are being to loud
But make sure that you tag
Your friends in the crowd

Make sure that your cheers
Has the boomerang on
Ignore your partner
But make sure to take a mirror picture at the salon.

Starbucks is great,
That a picture of that
And make sure you get some thing documented
With a caption reading “coffee with bestie, great chat!”

And if the sun ever catches your eye
And makes you wonder if there is more
Make sure you put up your windshield sun catcher
Before you enter the store.

So it seems
Any new space that is taken up
New voice spoken louder than before
Comes at the cost of you.
More than ever,
You feel alone
With only the castaways and stranded
to keep you company.

Instead, stand with us
Let us be your partners.
For you too, your sweet blue eyes,
Your charming ways,
Those too are not to be taken advantage of.

My space does not mean less for you
My voice does not mean your silence
Together, we can stand united
For a better, more equal land to roam.

The air was thick with rage and heat,
the steps were covered in cries.
Our mouths were masked to ward disease,
but did not cover our eyes.

The gray steps, with heat illuminated,
Bodies spread in clumps about,
The signs and shouts echoed one another,
as the collective emotion continued to mount.

From below we heard the plan,
Spread our message, bodies, and cover
we lay down our fronts and faces
to mimic the tragedy of past blunder.

With arms a top our backs
we all began to shout
"I can't breathe" came out our mouths
louder and stronger each time it came out.

For eight minutes and forty six seconds
we all continued to chant
Both heat and sadness swelling up
the seed of reality and the word "can't"

Because we couldn't breathe
and fear overwhelmed
Gone was the distance
from the feeling of hell.

And as the tears rolled down,
the sun acting as the knee
you could feel the fear
that George must've seen.

But when it was done,
because "after" was indeed a time,
we were all able to get up
and breathe in as a sign.

The sign was that we were all still alive
The simulation of that moment was gone,
How lucky we are to rise up when we know
George and many others cannot just get up and move along.

Just there after, the lights dim down to a nearly indiscriminate fade.

The hush falls on the crowd like a falling line of dominos.

It’s the same reaction every time it plays

The nostalgics movies’ nostalgic rerun

Where one might be able to separate the self

But the memory plays heavy none the less.



We are standing in the kitchen

And I can see the sun catching the horizon

Just above the mountains and just before

The sun slides into the night.

Water boiled rapidly on the stove and

The air was drenched in steam and shame.



I wonder if you think about saying that

Or even think of it at all

Replay it, dim the lights,

Replay it, quiet the noise,

Replay it, and find your answer.

Your words repeat in mind without fail



In sips of quiet spaces, in moves of loud pockets.

The movie reel continues on

But is never without the clip

The lid of the boiling ***

Idles between stable and not.

In a world unlike the one you hail,
from the time your eyes awake and rise,
up until the dark takes up all the space,
between is the time to which you feel out
Side is real enough to touch and feel
It still yet remains a scene that feels unlike
Your own imagination it finds the magic it sought
out of this world into the hopeful lies waste away
the day has come to an end and the sun is down
under your skin, your bones, your blood you know
there must be magic because if not the why
would God create our lids to open up each morning?

I've been calling it a ping recently
carelessly labeled like a home movie
or a sound effect without a title,
named out of thin air to solidify.

This ping does not toast with cheers or any joy,
No champagne bubbles in this type of ping.
This ping does not involve shared embraces
Though it is silently shared none the less.

This ping, instead, is similar to the
feeling of being impossibly lost.
It's like pin pointing the ambiguous
emotion of helplessness to real time.

This ping shows up in the physical realm
even though it is but a feeling felt.
You can see it when you look at their eyes,
Refusing to come up for air, look up.

This ping exists because there is so much
that goes unspoken between all of us.
Felt it when I found your old notebook, ping.
Felt it then too but tried to smile, ping.

This ping expects me to ignore you there,
pass by without a glance or a hello.
Feel it when I see red and your sign, ping.
Feel it when I pass you and your stuff, ping.

People often question weather humans
are ultimately good or if they're bad.
I usually just laugh and look down, ping.
My eyes, they shout "Isn't it obvious?"

I wanted to turn off today
because saving the world is exhausting.
It was the same exhaustion that plagued your face last night,
in between spoonfuls from your indistinguishable plastic red cup.

What a privilege to be able to save the world
instead of being the one who needs saving.

I think that's what drives me to leave,
the feeling that, no matter where I turn,
comfort means ignorance, willfully blind.

I don't know if it'll be any different anywhere else,
but what if he never explored the Giverny?
We would be lost without the Water Lillies.

You smelled different when I kissed you tonight,
A sort of sterile smell,
Sweet but foreign.
Your cries and your feet swollen with pain.
Your hunger is gone, at least mostly so.
Your eyes betray you
They share the secrets you’ve never told
They speak about the pain you’ve tried to hide
And they tell anyone who is listening about your broken spirit.
You’re living for us
And we for you.
We fake a smile and kiss you softly while our minds trail off in thoughts of never touching you again.
You are not gone yet
But we have quietly begun the procession.

The dance is beautiful
The rhythm of the universe pulses throughout
Intertwined with the sun and the moon and the stars
It is slow and elegant, without measure but limitless
The growth lives in a place intangible to the physical realities’
One in which dreams go to bathe in lush admiration and the whimsicality of existence
The  growth can be dangerous but worth the bloom
The slow movement like a ballerina with a lover
It is us, both existing and not
Dependent and singular
But it is the growth that we all depend
For the flower is beautiful.

I cam to drink a beer last night

after work was done,

I came to to blow off some steam

and just to have the one.



But then I saw my friends

and beer began to flow.

I drank a few more after-

how many I don’t know...



Because the details start to haze,

so let me settle the score.

When you go in for just the one beer,

You’ll end up drinking more.

Today I got the mail you had sent.
It was intertwined with the thin
paper of monotony and bills.
The letters all yelled in little voices,
shaded from travel but glowing.

I first looked for any order
but there was known. I
couldn't keep them locked anymore
so I began with the front.

My previous name, a previous life
brought to the surface in all capitals.

My memory reel began,
and so did my tears. We
had some great times, you and I,
before there was anyone else.

The smoked expanded into the wind like water color,
Rolling as it disappeared into the moon.
“Nothing is permanent”
Your voice whimsical and airy in my memory now.
“Even when it feels like it,
Even if you lay down roots and start a family.
You can always change,
You are free to be whomever you want.”
Your words spoke to me last night, my dear friend.
And reminded me.
So, I close my eyes and jump.

Apparently, being alone all the time makes my blood boil
It give me time to stew
Become a shrew
And release all my wrath onto you.

It’s a rose tinted nightmare now,
Dripping with fictional residue.
I don’t know how I ended up there,
Though I remember my soda perfectly.
The glass bottle gleamed in the sun light,
Thick smoke wrapped its way around my whole
And provided a freedom, cut off from reality.

I know you as a stranger
I know me as a stranger
But it didn’t matter at the time.
I needed the kind of release you can get
Only with a stranger,
No context
No future
Just that moment.

Sadness flowed down my cheek,
My anonymity was stripped away in an instant.
Props held the weight of my world,
Shifting, searching,
I tried to stay in the room.

I don’t think I’ll ever return
Though I know sadness will.
Because I took away your softness
I unloaded my weight onto you without permission
And for that, I am truly sorry.

It was like a scary dream
Childish fear brought to the surface,
Flush faced, wide eyed, the unfair advantage, still yet smoking and dripping in evidential residue.

The river singing it’s roaring song
Still the same.
Up above, the birds still perched,
Viewing the slaughter from above, with
A sort of grateful unexceptionalism.

How the world could continue
While this occurs, answered
only with boredom and indifference.

And when the flies began to gather,
The foresting neighbors began to collect, only then was left,
The fur still warm.

Horns the size of trees, yet
Gentle and innocent like a child’s swing.
Now sentenced to remain in the limbo, the
air, neither moving forwards or back,
then gone.

Only the body remains,
Unforeseen potential wasted with your intent.

I’ve always known it was the water that connects us
Not just the waves, soothing, rolling
Not just the community built within,
Not just the rain falling quietly in the thick breeze of the Florida afternoon
But in all of it
Even the new water
Frozen and pristine and soft
the kind that surrounds us now.
You are always with me,
No matter where I go,
Seemingly intertwined with my existence
But I have always been afraid to write about my ocean
Because with the written word
I am compelled to search through all of it
The beautiful coral that lies just underneath the surface
And the hidden depth that’s a secret to most
For how can I express my love for you
If you are but an ocean partially explored
The fear is cold
Unspoken
understood
While great revelation might be a few written lines away
Scribbled down with a simultaneous effortlessness and unrefined stimulation
I am afraid that like a snow flake,
While I continue to explore you my love
You will but melt away in my palm

I ate the notes of music
as they exit speaker holes,
I grabbed them out the air
to feed my hungry soul.

I ate and ate and ate and ate
each note it was divine
I ate so many music notes
my soul danced the rhythm line.

Now I'm full of music
to keep me satisfied
but if my soul gets hungry
I'll press play and open wide.

I think this is my list so far:
Kate Chopin
Jack Kerouac
W.E.B. Dubois
Harriet Martineau
Sue Monk Kidd
Nancy Isenberg
John Steinbeck
Ta-Nehisi Coates
Henry David Thoreau
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Ernest Hemingway

The wave does not ask before she crashes into your sand castle.
She tumbles ahead with a sort of mocking indifference.
Perhaps you brought both your buckets and your shovels
But her force comes from the changing tides.

I used to be scared of you
Too much of a good thing,
But now you are a building block
To help it all to sing.

You are bold and bright and brazen,
While you compliment so well.
Once I understood you
In love is what I fell.

I used to be scared of you
Never let them in
But now I embrace you
And can’t keep you within

Your briny slug trails
Trace down my cheeks
You’re one type of language
When out my soul speaks.

When she walks into a room,
she can go totally unnoticed
or steal every ounce of oxygen in the place.
Her beauty is natural and imperfect,
coexisting in the same space to play tricks on the mind.
I've seen her both love and hate equally as hard,
and I know for a fact she exists in two places at once.
I can see what her eyes see and hear what her mind speaks.
The stories they tell are different, but sometimes all the same.
She lives her two lives alike while they themselves remain separate.
She does not chose to pick her favorite of the two,
for what purpose would that serve her?
She will always be apart of both,
one does not exist without the other.
To sentence her to live singularly would be
all but a punishment onto it self,
For what is the present without the mind
and what is the mind without the present?

All at once
They rush ahead
simultaneously graceful and sinister as their piercing emerald movement bellowed below
A warmed sense of urgency and rage pulse through them
It is not safe,
Out here or up there

The Wind had already begun to stir
When your heads finally looked up
It’s as if I appeared out of thin air
The sounds of the emerald thunder
Elusive like your paper thin shoes.

make sure nothing is left outside of its boundaries,
which are both restrictive and comforting
like the love of a mother.

Add a little weight so that it is not only concrete in its existence
but its understandable
its executable
its a nice little pill we can all swallow and digest
a little burn in the stomach means that it’s really working

it is important all air pockets are filled in the box
we want no space to wander.
fill it with war
fill it with peace
the only box the two could ever coexist

When it’s totally full,
close the lid quickly
the longer the box is closed
the sooner you can put it away and reminisce.

store it away so that you can find it in twenty years and remember the feeling
the burn in your belly
the slight rose colored memories
when you wipe the dust of the box
it’s easy to remember what it all was
because the aged letters still read
the word for it all
“love”

There is shimmer in those aspen leaves,
it begins with wind’s whisper midday.
And no matter what you might say or feel,
the flowers grow wild anyway.