Zoom in:

And she’s crouched on the floor, clawing

her hands into thick thighs, bulbous skin,

young, the kind dying to be touched

not pulled.

The voice of her mind screaming silently,

jealousy becomes her. You are not this or

her. You are not, you are not, myopic labeling,

the kind that forms false identities.


Zoom out:

Who are you? Or rather, who do you want

to be?

Laughter becomes her and this is the moment

that is owned by us all, as we form bridges over

which Creation flows. Your hands are tied to my

feet tied to my hands. Yoga bodies form mandalas

in time,

through time.




,the son of inspiration

in duality,


How big can you love?


Forgive yourself/Forgive others


What do you want to hear,

my shallow observations sung or

the echoes that bounce off of

my soul?


Only play ping pong with the best.

They are all the best. 


I have come into form as a

crystallization of energy. 


I am vain,usually sick, always trying to stay calm.

Reflections on Smoke


she asked me to dance

    without words, just

an outstretched delicate arm,

maybe too delicate for “outstretched.”


In awe I stood, as she

faded into the night,

taking with her my love and

my happiness. 


How addicted I am,

to fastening the two, to

think in only that light. 


It is to feel at all where love should go. 


An Ode to the Ghost

To you, dear Dream I once hath dreamt, 


as I lay alone atop my bed, I never thought I’d be yearning for

a grace as swift as yours. So quiet and transparent I long to be,

mimicking your silent soliloquy. 


I drove you to the cliff again, though this time you know not how you got there.

Last time, it was a fight.

This time, it is silence.



I am bound by my hips, but it changes as they unbind, relaxing enough to let my crossed legs ease toward the floor. I feel guilty for medicating because Anxiety isn’t something we label a disease yet, right? Everybody loves or everybody hates me, it’s my choice. I call sadness the one where I convince myself they hate me. I may do it first. Sometimes I find a point in the roller coaster ride where I feel like sharing my thoughts with you, or loving you, no difference. My attention is attached to joy. And I find my release so much more difficult.

Writer’s Block

I am a Rubberband

Tautly wound from my neck to my pelvis.

I am too loose,

Fluid Limb Syndrome.

I am too tight, how

will my bubble pop?

Wednesday evening walk

(when you’re more fulfilled in the moment, you start to enjoy how you feel.You can feel the air going through you, You can feel your eyes moving around in your head, You can hear the sounds of the world. You feel what it’s like to keep your pace steady and to keep your balance and it feels like) You glow up like a tree and the energy that inspires you grows through the soil of your brain and shoots out the top, electric like ideas.

Make Eye Contact

A cold wave laps the damp

warm stillness

on the 

beach of veins in the 

fingertip universe.


The speakers,

ba-bum, ba-bum,



We all collect

in prayer

as focus.  

Worry chokes me, like



I am huge, the electricity

lighting up the edge of

my face, 

flesh to air. 


Where does one stop?



Who am I allowed to Worship?

My angel in Hell,

I want to remember the moment you saved me.


I bow to you in thought

as grief leaps past its chains,

and my skin wants to come off.


Jai Guru Deva Om.


And when I’m in equilibrium bliss,

You are me.



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