i want to get high in foreign cities
travel to places i have yet to lay my eyes on
pack a bag and take off, my only motive to feel free
i want to kiss lovers on pavement my toes have never touched
beneath trees rooted with legends in their leaves
ensuring everlasting love
and i want to feel light, rather than weighed down
anchored to one small town
i want to drop everything and get away
to places where time is altered
and the stars are always present
whether it be in the night sky or people's eyes
i want to fall in love with strangers, cities, and scenes
i crave so deeply to feel free
to start anew

but at the same time
i want you to come too

s.s

people change everyday
so i vow to fall in love with you
every time the sun rises

s.s

This old house, this grey broken place,
Frozen in time as an eternal disgrace.
Children live hollowed, a family displaced,
A past without meaning, a future erased.

Pale blue walls and long fading boards,
Shredded white curtains and fire ant hoards,
Such are the stains of hate and discord
And the glory of what here once was? Now ignored.

Beyond rusty metal and chipping off paint,
You'll find a soft bed with some tiny restraints,
Out in the shadows, a little girl cries faint,
A childhood of sorrows. Not peaceful, not quaint.

It's so hard to see from the rotting dead wood,
In the place where warmth and passion once stood.
There's some photos to save but I don't know if I should.
And a story to tell but I'm not sure that I could.

Up those broken stairs are two little boys beds,
Where they used to lay down their adventurous heads.
But now there's no laughter, no fuzzy warm spread,
Just suffering and fear and loathing instead.

And so I wallow in memories painfully sore,
completely devoid of strength left to explore.
So I bid farewell to the dark place once more,
Pack up my anguish and head out the door.

In a forest, where bird songs are silencers to a pistol and their feathers are scattered hopes, like broken dreams are to fantasies, I sit.
I stretch my arms, wide enough to fit grief and happiness in my muddy hands that I use to bury unspoken apologies and eulogies for days I have not yet lived.

I begin to stare aimlessly at the sky trying to spot the night moon. Its silhouette, that I trace with my finger.
I've drawn
And in the folds of the night, I hold you close
like day does dawn.

I let your depression stain my cheeks and see it drip between the gaps in my teeth,
sting my gum,
and so your language interweaves itself upon wounded scars on my tongue, so when i return back home, i return with the same cuts identical to your tongue that you hung


I don't want to sound too much of a stranger to you when I talk thus tonight, I’ll choose to tie happiness to things that have asked for no such burden
and stictch my lips silent to silence our silent violence.

My eyes bounce back at the hazy sky as if it’ll tame your inner broken and mould it into a less wild creature
more civil, more mature
less aggressive, less of a spirit

Your spirit appears in the bezels of my mind
my trachea catches fire burning deep into my whines ,
my breath disappearing into a silent hymn in the dull light
and watch my tongue chameleonize into a trillion hues of white
until my tongue becomes a graveyard for all my white lies

Until pain becomes a part of my diet,
until I'm able to chew the residual images of a broken girl, until her sadness becomes the air I breathe
until her inner warrior becomes the battle field never fought in
until I'm able to swallow sadness when chugged down my throat,

until I'm able to befriend your wild.

I feel the cold bites, mittened children yell
they’re sewing sky flowers as they run with yellow or red kites
ocean makes that great space with tides that linger over the rocks
we fashion nothing like the clouds and feel small

As storms build up I walk a coastal trail
where ashes of an old beach fire left roasted pinecones littered
an Osprey flies up above the shore’s edge  
and as I read your book, I feel the restless melody in your poems

Tides flap and slop against sand the color of worn concrete
ocean’s spoiled lives permeate everything, my skin tastes sea salt gargle
gulls and passersby all watch the waves moving towards us

I’m lingering here for too long and return to my car
clicking heels behind me in the parking lot
the castanets of other lives with their importance
arouse such unpleasant thoughts, I walk back down to the beach
hurrying until I no longer hear their rhythm

But now the fog rolls in and the ground is covered with wings
all the doors are locked when the sky drops down like this
thunder knocks in the distance saying ‘“celebrate!”
its echoes wake the clouds, rain gives an answer with applause

on the threshold of storm I turn away from the ocean and look east
a forested mountainside crowded with fading painted houses abandoned
a single car on the road with headlights, we have hundreds of days of rain here

in other words, most people forget anything but rainy weather
the chill from Alaska reaches down only in gusts but snow is distant

This Sunday when Netarts bay is full of kayaks and fishing boats
Oceanside’s patch of beach is strewn with sea grass, people with their dogs
walk amongst shed crab shells, a lone restaurant opens selling coffee and pies
none of the people in rain slickers and hoodies move off as the rain falls

i.

words blur themselves
in the remote reaches
of the mind, verbs
and adjectives search
for voice in a tongue
captivated by ice,
flowering like the
newly blossoming sun.

ii.

frozen,
with the frost
that winter
breathes,
the winter’s silhouette the
ghost of the snow.

iii.

her voice a million
white leaves
learning how to melt
like a little snowman
wrapped in a warm,
red scarf.

iv.

the water breathes
its kiss of ice,

mirrors pressed to
the sky,
white hedgerows
with leaves
that shiver
gathering april's
weak sunlight,

framed like a
watercolour the
shadows of
midnight’s blue inks.

v.

the lake ploughs
its bottle-like
greens, surrenders its
shimmering breath
to the waste land of
the sky.

vi.

love drifts with the seas
where the waves rush
past, a colossal stream
below the blue stars.

As the weary years of age catch up with me,
so do I realise that life is nothing but a series of changes,
things have a begining, things have an end,
people come and go, sprout up like shoots in a garden,
then slowly wither away, as though never there,
tears fall, laughter resounds, happiness then sadness,
nothing we ever say or think or do can last forever,
loves, losses, pain, hope, dispair,
the very foundations of life change before us,
unfurling as the spring flowers,
their memory fading as the changing seasons,
so in all of this take no thought for tomorrow,
neither let the past chain you to memories,
live for this moment, it is the only thing that remains resolute.

Poets are a common breed,
they're a dime a dozen;
my uncle was a poet,
as was my second cousin.

Some are mad romantics
some are crazy, like a loon;
they write at all the odd hours,
morning, night, and noon.

The good ones leave you gasping,
at each turn of phrase;
you envy their technique,
strive to learn their ways.

The bad ones leave you laughing,
as they offer empty blithering;
you tend to scratch your head,
is there such a word as glibbering?

But, bless them all for trying,
to say what's on their minds;
it only goes to show you
it takes all different kinds!

I was walking
and the ocean
was above my knees

I didn't feel the cold
or mist hanging silent
above, but I knew
the darkness, old friend,
longer than I will admit

I knew the waves
in ways I know
I could never explain

You found me there
and called out for me
to come out of that grave
I was sinking in, I don't know
how deep I would have gone
had you not known my name

I should drop to my knees
and kiss the salt from your feet
thanking you with the sea on
my lips and leak salt of my own
offering gratitude for calling

Thank you through the mist
and waves, thank you for
my heart beating, not feeling
the cold, for my lips that never
tasted the lightless far below

Thank you for following
my footprints when I was lost,
drowning in a sea of sorrow.