Cut out on my feet –
cigarette burn rounds–
from city streets
that used to greet me
with imitation fireflies
and flights of fancy –
dizzying and glorious.
Now cracking and porous
my heels no longer
enough to support
–me –

Lo, lost, in this city
I knew –
So well –
It’s a hell

from the second you left
familiar became terror
and all I could want
is to escape –
walk away searing
in the heat –
I burn my feet
on the streets
that used to love me.

For you

Writing words
as if they could touch you.
As if a sentence
were my arm outstretched,
my words – my fingers –
go through your hair.
A Full stop – a kiss,
a comma – a breath
that we breathed together.
This could not exist
within me
without you.
The twisted silver lining
of the aching heart is this –
after all of this
I still have my words;
you are still my meaning.

We’re so evolved kids

I crawled cradled into a hole,
a little one next to Mrs. Ples.
There I laid my head down
on our grandmother’s breast.
There it was I cried
the where’s, the what’s, the who’s, the why’s.
Do we hurt each other so
like siblings do, me and you?
You pull each other’s hair, she said
To bash the other on the concrete,
the street, to claim the game’s victory.
But the game’s gone
too far, much much too far.
You’ve forgotten what a cop, what a robber is.
To hide (away) and to seek (refuge)
playing on the streets.
She’d hit us, she said
if she had had the strength.
You hate too much and care too little
So the game my dear
isn’t worth its prize.
It isn’t fun anymore,
it hasn’t been
since even before my time.

Thus spoke the thunder

Imagine that there were
no words
on this page at all,
just thunderous silence.
A blankness
with which you would
be reflected.
Don’t see these words,
see the lines between,
the gaps, chasms,
without which they would not
We are all spaces
between people,
between planets,
between universes,
between ideologies.
Remember that between
is the place to be
don’t you know
when the rhythm is slow
you can better hear
the beat
music is
after all
the silences
in between.


Somewhere inside me
is the past-tense
of an empty tea cup
and a novel with a broken spine.
Ants circle the rim,
crawl across the pages
in a search for nourishment
different from my own.
Words arranged like music
are a tome of silence
that smells sweetly
of years on a sunned shelf
where the dust,
from the big bang
nestles itself
on its own creation.
And I find
the ants and I
aren’t so different after all

Smoking Starlight

Watching souls drift into the verse.

I wrote this line this weekend. I was really quite raucously drunk, but it was reasonable since my best friend was visiting from way out of town. After a roller-coaster of a week I welcomed the break. We had a great dinner, which was mostly liquid. I was absorbing the positive vibes of a guy I met, he’s HIV positive but honestly one of the happiest people I’ve ever met. In company like that I found no reason to be upset. We ended up in this little tucked away place, which bordered between cheap and artistic.

I found myself lounging on a couch with chickens clucking nearby. It’s safe to assume that I was outside. Although chickens indoors may have heightened what I was feeling. A sensation that I’ve been feeling for a while, and it’s hard to explain. It’s as if reality is cracking, and thick wafts of a dream state are leaking in. It’s like nothing is really real, everything is only pretending to be solid, but at any moment it could totally transform into something else.

I realised I’d probably drank way too much, and the hookah that I was puffing on was not helping either. With each exhale, waves of smoke flowed out of my lips. I became light headed as I watched the smoke float into the sky and into nothingness. I felt as if my thoughts were doing the same thing. Then it wasn’t just my thoughts but my whole being, dissolving into its surroundings. I turned my head to look at my friend and I felt no distinction between where I ended and he began, and honestly I thought nothing of it… I just existed.

Staying in the moment is becoming difficult, I’m in my head too much, and my head is fuzzy most of the time. It’s becoming difficult to see what’s dream and what’s reality.

Deep breath… And I’m back… And I scribble down that one line. And I feel myself drifting into the universe again


I’m sure every blog in its beginning’s struggles to settle its roots deeply in order to grow into something impressive. It’s not that I aim to impress, or even for growth. These are just my thoughts about things as I have them, shifted around, put down on paper and then uploaded for all to read. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about roots. Currently I’m doing the history of English in my English class, in philosophy we’re questioning the concept of a history that progresses to a point or whether we as people have progressed at all.

Maybe some time I’ll write a post about that, but this is all a little more personal. I want my blog to also resemble a story in a way, a narrative of the things that happen to me, only because I enjoy reading blogs like that. so here are some of the roots to my emerging little story.

I shouldn’t be here, I’m too young, it’s too crowded and the cigarette smoke is seeping into my clothing and turning my eyes red. The thumping music drowns it all out, the constant thoughts, the constant, “did he care about me? does anyone care about me?” I’d probably leave with someone else tonight, partly because I can’t drive and partly because I can’t find a reason not to. I’m that innocent looking kid with a twisted smile and an even more twisted sense of self-worth. This is really highlighted when the credit card crushes something on the top of the toilet, the powder is scraped into neat little lines and all I can think is, “I should not be putting this up my nose”. That idea soon leaves my mind, but is followed by more “should not’s”; I shouldn’t be having another tequila, I shouldn’t have taken my shirt off, I shouldn’t be making out with this guy and I really shouldn’t be making out with his boyfriend. All of this culminating in a blinding morning-light thought: I really shouldn’t have done that last night.

After my break up I was a little more demented. I was looking for an escape in the rat filled holes of the city, I was escaping into the city lights, I was a black room boy. It took me two whole years to really shake it all, with a few botched relationships, meaningless flings and another big heart-break along the way. I’d say that I was saved by the good lord but I wouldn’t be able to do it with a straight face. I saved myself, I grabbed myself by the scruff of the neck and dragged myself out of these places, away from these “friends.”

There are certain moments that saved me. Insomnia driven, tossing and turning, thinking about life, kind of moments. When the rest of the world is deep in REM, and the only rapid thing about you are those incessant thoughts flitting around your head, and perhaps your quick reaction to the “skip” button on your Ipod, because you don’t need to wallow in Adele right now. This is the paranoid exploration of your own life up to this point, and a fearful glance to the possible future you’re headed toward. You try to remember a time when you were a kid and you were happy, when things scared you and you could just hide under the covers. Back before the monsters were under your bed, not in it. There’s no more hiding or running to your parents, you have to be the big boy now and sort out your own pile of crap.

Now I’m much better adjusted, to being in my own skin that is. I think it absolutely necessary that I went through that, it built me in ways that I couldn’t imagine, especially as an artist. The road ahead seems a lot brighter, unless of course I’m about to be run over by an 18 wheeler truck. I’m still growing, I’m still not exactly where I want to be but it’s all part of this journey.