Oh how the clock ticks on
the future becomes the past
and nothing changes

Brave little nomad,
this uncharted, no mans’ land will be yours soon enough.
Keep trekking,
little explorer—
for the world extends far beyond your road maps

Heavy baggage turned deadweight,
stowing away, clinging on—
down, down, down— we both shall sink
The tighter we clutch, the farther we fall
tense tendons and crooked insecurities leaving us
at the bottom
of
the
ocean.

One of the saddest tragedies of life
is when we down a poison,
thinking it an elixir.

the soundtrack of san francisco
is pale gold and lush green
car horns

we pressed our scents
       into those unholy sheets
                                 like flowers
                                          in a book

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.