The Pier Revisited

Peering into reflective walls once again; repetition or replay, who is to say? Crimson flames sprout from Emerald blades; Cerulean waves crash into Purple plush. Twilight mirrors the ocean of Desires; fractured prisms refract disjointed Trust. The whirlpool begins as I’m drawn in; All hues allude to what I once knew; They spin and turn…Read more »

Late Bloomer

What dreams may come to the midday mind; What desires are buried behind the eyes of envy? Tender slender stems of delicate lilies white and frilly feminine hems of giggling skirts and batting eye- lashes. Why does it hurt? Graceful is pretty swans sitting on pristine ponds of purity. Soft petals flitter, tremble, quiver in…Read more »


Grow! Grow! the forest spirits stutter their feet, raising paws and claws, with coos and caws, to the god of trees. Hides twitch, fur shuffles, feathers ruffle in the twilight moon. Feed it, they plead; let it grow in the glow of evening souls. The sky blinks her starry eyes, the moon yawns, as a…Read more »

Black Rainbow

You are a silent song, a breeze whispering to fluttering palm fronds in a childhood memory of sleeping birds and unheard sighs on a dream-filled night.   You are obsidian light illuminating the blinding purity of austerity, the cleansing tar swallowing the soiled bones of unoriginal sin.   You are a rainbow of black promises…Read more »

Watching the Sunrise

The golden knife slices through the the lime hills of morning glory, beginning a story. The thrill of unknown unshown unspoken threads sewn between two halves hands clasped. Shimmering blades of grass green glass in a homemade windchime of beer bottles, the sound of sunlight. Winter kisses Spring I’ve seen a purple flower grow in…Read more »


Dear diary, Today I went to school and I learned how to write. My teacher taught me how to spell and punctuate, how to elaborate on my thoughts with concrete detail and clear and concise imagery. He taught me to break paragraphs, indent, double-space and to write my name nice and neat at the top,…Read more »


I. The room (or memory) is a blaring white of a fly trap, a blinding illumination of buzzing that attracts my mind only to zap any feeling into non-existence. The horse blinders kept me looking down and forward, the food-splattered ground moving beneath my feet like a conveyor belt; my mind pressing stop and play…Read more »