To be stairs Sure, steps always, but stairs? Floating upwards Built-in integrity Supported intentionally from The very first nail. Instead of this flat thing, Winding and never feeling The full exertion of those walking This simple path. Never mind the location! The path doesn’t see…

Yesterday, I participated in my first poetry marathon. Well, technically the half marathon. Twelve new poems in twelve hours. This morning, I’m very tired. The whole exercise was deceptively difficult—not that I thought it would be so easy, but when I sit down with my…

Dan the fireman told me he was made for three things: to play baseball, put out fires, and fuck. But he left ball and bat at home and there is no smoke in this bar.

I once met a man with fifteen cats. My policy is even one deems a man untrustworthy. So, I told him all my secrets, he didn’t tell a single one. I met a woman with a serpent’s tongue. Her truth sounded like lies, and mothers…

the first words, starting coming hours before the starting~gun as I drifted off to sleep   I started the morning Beginning with The End, of yesterday.   the bittersweet cacophony ringin’ in my head “note-to-self for next time” never skip ahead   As the hours…

You astound me To be speechless, While bearing witness of brilliance, An understatement of your truth. How did God create you, Molded and shaped you, so perfectly Could it be, meant for me? Fingers laced, my heart raced When you pulled me in to kiss When…

Why would you do that? Because I love to write What will you get from that? A satisfaction at night How much are you going to be paid? Not a single dime Who would make you do such a thing? This writing passion of mine

Escape the world in the sights and serenity The hummingbirds stop by and birds sing a melody The roses nearby create aromas divine I desire to escape in this private world of mine

I don’t know which was is up or down or anywhere for that matter my eyes burn my body aches and I am ready to fall helplessly in love with sleep I feel drained, itchy, crawling out of my skin but I wouldn’t trade this feeling…

Dearest Poets, The Night Is For Sleeping. Not writing, or dreaming, or thinking. The night is not for wild-eyed dreamers whose thoughts wreck havoc. The Night is For Star-crossed lovers who take their lives or for those who are faint of heart The Night is Not for…