when we should stick.
The rigid cliffs
spiraling down our spines
grind every time
we’re held together
as one.

I don’t know about
you, but we should
probably find
a way to smooth
things out.

Maybe glue ourselves
together so our
problems don’t appear
so transparent
to others.

I woke up and went outside
to bathe in the winter weather.
Sitting in a wooden chair, hidden behind
some firewood I see a bird appear
The bird was startled to see me there.


My heart skipped like a rock across water.
We made eye contact and the bird flipped
and retreated to the pine trees.
It was a blue jay--
I could see the speckled array of blue patterned
on its elegant down coat.

It started digging through
the blanket of dead needles
and my curiosity led me to question
the blue jay’s curiosity;
because curiosity killed the cat,
or in this case, startled the blue jay.
Does the blue jay
have a family to feed?
A flock to fly with? Or is the
blue jay on its own?

I feel human because
the blue jay and I are not the same—
just pieces of natures puzzle.
The blue jay thrives on nature,
I thrive on the
evolution of humanity.
The blue jay spends a lifetime
in the sky--
I spend mine trying to find my wings.

An Old Oaken Bucket full of *****
Swindling me from a spindle of rope,
Sloshing with every cup I fill
to the brim, topped with a savory foam.

I dip into the treasure on most
weekend nights with a blurry sight,
the least bit of fright, and a cup
that screams “Let’s have some fun, alright?”

I carry that cup with a sense of pride
every trip I make to fill it with *****.
Too many round trips have lead to
a massive amount of mistakes made.

Being out too late, because nothing
good ever happens after midnight,
Locking lips with random women
and not re-calling any of them.

Convoluted conversations about
the string theory or religion, trying
to sound smart while I slur my words,
I successfully fail to make sense.

I’ve learned the circle of life revolves
around learning, so, how can I learn if
I never make mistakes and play it safe?
Safe to say, I’ll never make that mistake.

Eyes slit like a stoner,
hearing things that
never made a sound.

Dust white as sugar
looks like residue
from an eight-ball line
recently snorted off
of the Old Testament.

Alluring at the top
and somewhat appealing but,
pointed at the bottom—
which penetrates the grain
cementing self-control together.

Buzzed and bleeding through
rusted nostrils eroding
from illicit use and
spiraling out of control.

Keeping it together
strictly because a
corrosive adhesive has been
stuck to an addicted membrane.

Eventually, the adhesive
will wear off and
everything will fall apart.

I told my mother I found out
love is not what people say it is
in the leather-bound books
or the virtual screens today.

They say we should fall in love
with the idea of love and
"happily ever after"
will be until the end of our days.

My mother replied to me,
“Tell me son, what is love
in your eyes then?
What is love to your heart?”

My muttered answer to my mother
was, “What makes my heart race,
and what makes my heart sink,”
as if it should make sense to her.

Surprisingly, her reply to me
was this, “Don’t define love, son,
It is too powerful to define.
Let love define you—

That is where the true power lies.”