Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.


She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.


Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.


A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.


Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.


Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”


The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.

Wine glasses filled with red,
matching shadows under lace,
a devilish and delicious grin,
the smile on her face.

She wishes to devour me,
taken over by the devil inside,
I believe I shall allow it,
and enjoy the Valentines ride.

If I could
pinpoint the
exact moment
your breath
touched mine
washed me over
in ocean waves
sea creatures glowing
in delightful recognition
as the seedlings
of connection
shimmied into our being
and, dancing within me
in its own lifeforce
your mind a living,
breathing animal
your heart, purring
and whirring its sacred forces
into my molecular structures
your soul throbbing
in mitochondric pulsing
(oh what
a delicious vibration
of ribosomes)
Between us, we hold
the true treasures
close, in frothy
                       tenderness
a purity of the expanse
of our universe,
swathed in prismatic color
colors that shift,
these fresh hues
for which there are no name
they are lucid and fine-woven
as silk histories
yet deep as earthcore
your eyes, voice
are forever burned
into my own
every day scriptures
that rock my shattered parts
into wholeness
and,
like ancient magic,
I conjure forth
the holy gospel
rising from our bones
every second of
every minute
as our deepest fires
our most secret filth
our murky corners
our darkest hours
we weave into light
brilliant and lustrous
multi-layered in the richest
folds of the earth
and as you place me
upon the shores
of your garland-graced
                              throne
Now I'm alive in a new
kind of light
and
all I can do
is love
        and love
and love

We are all poets
We all spit it
One time or another
We all **** with words
And sometimes commit ******
We all are poets
In a sense
When our words turn luscious
And resemble hymns
When our words inspire
Awakening angels and sometimes demons
We are all poets
I have no doubt
Ive been spoken to
And felt
The words so deep
Touch wounds stitched up neat
Touch hearts last beat
Make heart skip beat
And repeat
And i know it
We are all poets

Sometimes i know that in my poetry
I cant copy the lyrics i see
That as the sweet melodies wisp around my ear
I can never recreate the notes i hear.

As a poet i feel inferior
And it shakes me to my very core
But as a listener i feel superior
Because the themes are unlike any I’ve heard before

And i wish I could play more instruments
Because mine don’t always cut it
Sometimes i cant peel back that layer of reality
To see who I’m supposed to be.

Up and down the alleyway
The street art reeks of ****
And up and down I walk until
I cast my eyes on this:

An image of a girl aflame
Balloons in either hand
The rosy-red wrapped 'round her wrist
Her eyes fixed on the sand.

And painted waves lap painted feet
Extinguishing their flame
But water works with cyclic rolls
And feet in flame remain.

The latex melts and burns her hands
Her hair curls up in ash
And I walk on, untouched, unscathed
For art will fade and pass.