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.
for the world extends far beyond your road maps
*Gladys is my childhood dog. This was written after her passing.
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
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
we pressed our scents
into those unholy sheets
in a book
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.