Creation has time constraints

The fruit is rotting

I can see my hands past the core

Seeds trickle through my fingers

I can’t go back to the store

It is closing at midnight and it is half-past when I was okay

I just want to see tomorrow in its glory

Fifty cents in my pocket gets me nowhere but a reminder of the fruit seeds

Of what could have flourished into trees

Baring fruits that fill my needs

But the seeds are metal tokens clanking in my pocket full of holes

Never growing into home

I do not have water to nourish them

Or the ground to bury them

I can wait

I cannot wait

Guess I will wait

For spring

I miss you all so much but I’m also glad you’re gone

I am still here

Many many years are on top of this chest

Since I first laid down on this side of the bed

Once again existing at 3 am

So sober as the ghost train echos

Hearing the haunting cries of steel shaking

Breaking up the cold air and deadened night

From this warm safe room

It tastes like hopelessness

And a sly sense of humour

There is no owl in the window this time

Only the same memories with new injuries

Tragedy has come and gone and

I am still here

natural cruelty



is a hooded figure waiting

after running three hundred miles

approach the finish line with expectant relief

failure grasps your hand without warning

scolds you

how dare you assume you were guaranteed?

then proceeds to push you back

to run the race again

i wish i never met you

it took months to figure you out

beyond the rain and after the drought


I felt my pocket empty

in it when I reached

nothing but remains of your cliches


always took what you could

things I could not replace

you inhaled my space

drank my health

sank your teeth

sucked my wealth


these days i stumble upon you

by memory

i fight back

resisting charm

slow fast heartbeats

and i turn around








misused & abused

loitering in ones’ own conscience


biting irony

sex is always on the table

when you’re making pretty sense

lay back down





dream deeply now