Thoughts on overdrive — “I’m busy” — creating distractions of external fixations trying to walk a straight line scheduling schedules to meet between jolts of neon coffee in the morning then drowning every Friday night in memories of low-calorie fruity wine while slow dancing with expected social time kissing plump lips with foggy eyes then expecting a different face to taste…

Melting minds and eroding fears — The death dance begins… Growing up in my family, matters of death remained unspoken words that hovered in the air. Some days, I could see the words floating above everyone’s head. Like little storm clouds packed full of dread. I used to have dreams that I was someone else — a stylish woman named…

Crawling out alive — I see me in you crawling down unnamed streets hollow wretched howls echoing in your bowels summoning the heavens above opening a vortex of scribbled cursive lists numbered commotions now turbulence vibrating already lived waves of time making every piece of you a slave to grief wedged between past oceans and the erosion of pearly present day sands…

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…

A Poem — Midnight — not just black engraving itself in starry skies, not just the moon enveloping your eyes, not just when the clock strikes twelve — it’s charred ashes falling into circles transforming into specks of darkness then floating in the stillness between breezes, it’s all ends that roll into every beginning, it’s every day’s dawn…

A poem — Westward winds stream themselves into wayward wisdom pearls, summoning presence due east spiraling with galaxies of gusts spinning mostly north a collision of creation of more — they were born before birth into chasing stars chasing minds canvassing space and time shaping rocks into grooves of records shaping soil into fertile battles of our twisted toil…

A journey through rocky days — The moon detonates me into dueling tunes tunes with tones to corrode old ears funny how often I squinted my eyes to hear the new melodies wrap the crescent moon and blur into motion — yet she still awakens while she sleeps in spoken silence she bathes in every version of herself she sees she is…

Returning my space — A starry sky spectacle such a sweetened resting rise allowing nocturnal northern winds to flow fuel into boundless transitions — a sweeping of lopsided loops into strands of light that call to every home buried in woven hearts ruminating on every solemn seashore calling for just one oar I’m standing…

The devil in the details — It’s a becoming of the observation that fuels my heart awake — one day I was caught in a cascading concentration of an ongoing flight dedicated to deviations of sight — I noticed growing maladies plaguing my morning eyes while watching the daily demise of every black velvet tendril that blankets the night and observed…