Friday, April 6, 2018

My breath is the salt spray

My breath is the salt spray
on your deep brown skin
as if we were ever on the same beach at the same time.
I reflect on those Los Angeles years
through a new lens
brown beach holidays when there was time to make the traffic-locked drive from east-side neighorhoods
we may as well have called the Westside whiteside as we stayed inside
I'm learning
about white privilege from black teachers
and now I almost know
what it feels like to never have had to speak for all the people of my racial group because
we are individuals
we have always been
I have never had to worry that my actions will reflect poorly on other white people.
I am sickened by this
realization that I have no history, no meaning, no shared experience
of depth I cannot fathom.
Cast me out to sea, I want to struggle
to stay afloat
to take into my lungs little gasps of air and water...
My breath is the salt spray
on your deep brown skin.

A NaPoWriMo prompt -

Thursday, April 5, 2018


I apologize, it's true
that I imagine us, cavalier
more violently alive than the world would have us

A NaPoWriMo prompt -

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Long winter

It's April and snowing again
and the sounds of life slowly disappear
and I can't think of any other words except
and the landscape recedes, zooming away from my window, down the block
my ears suddenly ring with desperate silence
as I feel the weight of the window sill
lift beneath my warm finger tips
to let the isolation whoosh out of the bedroom window
and the smell of fresh nothing fill my lungs

A NaPoWriMo prompt -

Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Band Names

Fizzled Daydreams We Are
Perpendicular Universes
Colliding in Your Back Seat
Locked Into You
Until I Gaze Upon
Unexpected Pistachio
Ever So Slightly
Split Like Me

A NaPoWriMo prompt -

Monday, April 2, 2018

Fine Lines

I think there's a fine line
between remembering and forgetting.
The clinging to and the letting go,
as with my body and its blood.

You sense there's a fine line
between sociopathy and buddhism.
The monk is not attached to her hair,
as you are not bound by reproduction.

She knows there's a fine line
between starting over and moving on.
The postcards have different names,
as her luggage waits by the door.

A NaPoWriMo prompt -

Sunday, April 1, 2018


That I think of life as death and death as life
is a secret held close from the common.

And you might think me inside out and backwards
in that brief moment of your discerning.

But that's okay my short-time friend
the mortal soul knows its calling.

And I will hold your hand and lead you from here
As you allow yourself to untether.

Where edges of the world bleed into focus
and tears are shed for the smallest beauty.

Life and death betray a spectrum
of a love story unending.

A NaPoWriMo prompt -

Thursday, February 9, 2017

The in between

Some days the gravity is too strong
so I summoned the Eternal by looking at a picture of a bird in flight because a real bird wasn’t in my living room
and then afraid I was about to escape my mind I made hard-boiled eggs and ate one while it was still warm and soft and the scent of bird was there which made me sad that I was eating a bird
so I put that out of my mind and sat down with a hard-bound book and let the weight of it sit in my palms and brushed the cover with my thumbs to feel the hardness and when I opened the book and began to read 
the pages released my mind and it was gone after all
Some days the gravity isn’t strong enough

Monday, February 6, 2017

The erasure was forgotten

The erasure was forgotten
like a slow train
coast to coast
through trees and hills and blasted rock
forgets its ties
that fade into a single, distant point
around a bend
in time
when thought was free
inside your skull
you steel yourself
those arresting thoughts
to rail against
the police of thought

A prompt from

Sunday, February 5, 2017

In this plain state

Sepia-toned Sunday
I move slowly through the house
Socks shuffling on smooth wood planks
Pausing at the kitchen sink to reflect
On this tiny backyard and its plainness
In this plain town in this plain state
Of affairs
I’ve had with other places this romance
Of what could be, of what I could be
When I was younger
It wasn’t a what-if fantasy that lasted more than a minute
Because I was up and gone
And now I move slowly
Through my body and through my mind
If only to show my heart that it’s ok
To move slowly
Through this romance with the world
As it could be
And the more slowly I move the more I see
The world as it is
And somewhere in the slowness of time
The what-if fantasy is beautiful in its dream-like state
Of affairs
I’ve had this idea that something bigger is happening 
Somewhere else
I was up and gone
And now the world seems smaller
As I shuffle in my socks 
In this plain house, in this plain town
In this plain state
I’m in

Sunday, January 29, 2017

We The Tree

I feel like everything can be likened to a tree
The trunk
The branches
The leaves
The system of it all

Do the branches really only stretch as far as the roots allow

Does the trunk forever build its protective layers

Do the leaves turn to face the winds

I just realized I don’t really know how a tree works

The knowing when to die
And when to be reborn