Stages — Lately you’ve been trying to tell time by reading a clock you can’t see but you feel its presence weaving itself into your heart beats A pounding pulsating echo chamber that takes seconds to combust every minute and hour into rusty dreams of man-made ticking machines You can now hear everything…

Purposeful movements — She left without saying goodbye she didn’t utter one letter of any syllable of recycled words out loud instead the words stayed inside rattling around her mind soaked with too many years of unresolved blame floating and deconstructing themselves out into the ether where nothing is really everything that ever…

Saying goodbye — Such a classic spin that old blue Oldsmobile rounding the curve rotating back down the same road again and before beaming with invisible familiarity leaving oil stains down boulevards sewn with uneven seams Five days a week over and over I watched him go to work and return the same blinding spin I was a kid but…

Asking yourself empowering questions — Thank you to my wonderful friend Tree Langdon for pulling this thought-provoking prompt straight from her brain caverns. Tree asks us to ask ourselves empowering questions about what it means to be human and so much more. The past year I’ve thought a lot about my life and what it…

Shadows of life and death — At six years old you used to imagine stars were tattooed on your chest their essence visiting you between heartbeats during the breath of nights so steeped in melancholy black it pulled your eyes to the moon and back How many times did the night swoop into a serenade like a delicate downplayed…

Bits and pieces of everything that doesn’t fit anywhere else — Once the darkest night fails to heed all roaming eyes that can only see a single edge of one side they become blind to the dividing line of time Afterall she spent years deconstructing the monsters that lurked under her bed and found they were really just slow-moving murky illusions of compounded bits of dread to shed…

Lighting the way —

Counting my days — Early on my wandering child eyes came to realize bargaining with time was a gamble not a compromise no matter how many times I drank the midnight oil and traced constellations straight from my ceiling talking to the plaster stars trying to will myself to become a heat-seeking space alien careening past prisons of time long before the grass grew too green and trees reached their grisly…

Clouds blooming — Ancient sky blooming into rapid formations of clouds that don’t explain why they are exactly what they are no need for definitions with word names the fortress of history steams its own smoke plumes as stories in books often feels like wrought iron fists plunging darkness into neat chaotic lists …