poem

Ancient stories heal the minds our children once own.

Blunt trauma, thoughts with scars thrown to the unknown.

Contrasting ideas, months with no sun, who really knows anymore.

THE TV WON’T SAVE YOU

There is doubt that sits upon the very bottom of my toes.

Rubbing sand against my teeth, only to show my blood is black.

Old newspapers dispersed on the kitchen table where the cats sleep.

Glasses full of water, sink is full of dishes, rats eat my mind.

Time is thrown in a closet, for days that seem to fly.

When children begin to die due to lack of knowledge:

Books don’t exist anymore.

heavy items float.

Inspire the minds of the birds that fly

      Above the skyline, before the sun sets, before night swallows us whole.

The room begins to sway, as the ceiling becomes the floor, the floor becomes the

Ceiling. Walking on walls, tongue tied, and the telephone has rung. Off the hook, off the cliff,

OFF WITH HIS HEAD. Noise stops, silence enters the skeleton’s eyes. When the black

Sea rises, the stars will float and the Moon shall sink.

            Below the water, underneath it all, RAW.

....

the cemetery looks Beautiful covered in the snow
crimson love and clovers, crisp winter air.

mother

once a place
i called home
my mother's body
where i once lived
shared one body
closer than hearts
closer than skin
together we shared
a place. her temple
she gave me, for
a time before i
had my own.

too fast for me

everything is going so fast
spinning
driving by
while we chase the moon
with a sky full of love
and a cherry backdrop
slow down for a minute

devils have friends too you know

the road is too long to end

black stones, 

yelling at a yellow moon

tell the truth- god of Pluto. 

do humans really love?

or do they just think they love?
i need to know. i need to know.

suspense kills me on a Monday 

night. smell the roses and grass.
glass of wine and record, my
night dances away in the
moonlight.