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Showing posts from 2016


nights that fizz and bubble up rising until they burst only the dregs are left were the laughs worth it? wine-soaked thoughts slide lazily around my brain if you can't remember did it even happen? perpetually exhausted exhaust fumes out my pores drown your boredom your champagne problems are you quite finished? the next round's on me.

Dust to Dust

They found us.        gnawed at us til we were bones.        a feast for foxes. The stones above us        are weathered to stumps        cobblestones of the new way. The roots have long since found us        we dance with them        in deep slumber. The earth spins on.        rivers of blood coursing        through its veins.

Leaves of Grass

All at once, everything shifts. Be it the wind accompanied by hushed tones, leaves of grass? In a book written by the hand of time, master poet of the senses. Words from sound, phrases from taste; a cacophony of feeling. And I, reed shoot from the earth. Moved gently by breezes Breathe still in myself


I'm through with my fear of the slugs, their slime does my spirit no harm. They look up at me with their glistening length and I think, "Oh, how soft, sweet, and warm!" I no longer see dirt on my skin, the muck muddles me not at all. They speak in a language that cannot be known, their stories leave me proud and tall. No more will I hide the great beauty That I feel without and within. I'm blessed beyond measure and will work to spread the sweet love that each new day wins.

Silly Poem from the Summer

Can you honestly tell me that you haven't thought about me at all? Am I actually too illiterate to read the situation at hand? I deplete myself with thoughts of my soul; Do I love too much? Do I still have control? Am I person alone, am I woman or am I seeking man? Have I put you up on a pedestal taught you how to look down from so tall? My intention's aim, my new old friend, is simply to know you; that's all. But simple is fool's gold since you're the most interesting thing I've seen in years. I trust myself, mostly know myself, but don't quite understand all my fears.


I rode the sunset down the coast a skipping stone on the belly of clouds. Didn't expect the ripple effect Can you feel my radial waves? Every stretch of sky I gain reminds me that you ground me. I'm not meant for air I'd rather breathe the forest in with you. Prefer to count sunsets until we see we're looking at the stars. Looking up and forward instead of down and back.     o    o    o    o    o    o I still haven't forgotten about you. I thought that it might happen. So I fly on, ever confused but happy. Waiting to float back to earth.

The Wonderland of Was: Absentia

I:   Absentia             I was in the car driving to the home of a family that I’m very close to, or rather, used to be close to.   They are comprised of thirty-something heterosexual parents of above average intelligence and cultural open-mindedness, a theatrical pre-teen girl and a friendly, flamboyant six-year old boy.   I have been babysitting for them for nearly five years.   I love them.   Although I had made the slow rush hour journey teems of times before, today was different.   The first swipes of a strong hurricane were lashing out above the townspeople’s heads, turning rush hour into an overextended muscle of time.   So much rain, everywhere you looked, that the entire place looked like a submerged post-apocalyptic strip mall.   My spirits were sunny as I mentally prepared for the night’s interactions.   It had been ten months since I last babysat for this family.   I hadn’t thought too hard about the implications until then—a defense mechanism I use to prevent myself

The Wonderland of Was: an introduction

It was a fairytale of magnitude contorted in on itself, twisting with glitter and slick with climate-controlled sweat; at once enormous and ephemeral.   That about sums up this week’s Thursday night.               The last few weeks have been a bubbly blur as I descended from the mountaintop experience of the last eight months.   Breakups, travel, explorations of all kind brought me to this series of moments, which can only be described as the transitioning Now.   In the Carroll-esque Wonderland of Now, I’m going to look back at the Wonderland that it Was.   So it goes… Join me every now and again for the episodic Wonderland of Was.   This series will be lucidly lavish chapters of a single night in a week.  

Hey. I haven't forgotten about you

Hours spent discussing our hopes, insecurities and nature You've had friends like this?  My heart screams to you, I'm different I'm not asking for your life Not wanting your all forever Says my objective other half This half begs, love mostly me Be centered, be balanced, be well Live fully with passion and joy See all that your world can offer But maybe...try these things with me? 

Narrowing Focus like a Thomas Cole Painting

This past week has me thinking a lot about taking one's time while working diligently, narrowing focus from big concepts into refined ideas, and how creative process and formal research are indistinguishable practices. I looked through my Adobe Lightroom library for a picture that expressed what I was thinking about and fished the below out of the photo sea. This is a look down the Venetian Grand Canal. It makes me think of floating determinedly into the ideal, not-so distant future. And now that I'm looking so closely at it, it distinctly reminds me of Thomas Cole's Voyage of Life  painting foursome that I saw in D.C. a few years back at the National Gallery of Art. This is one of my favorite American artists and works. Take a look at the Youth  panel below. Interestingly, Cole's Voyager is considered by some to be allegorical for America's journey as a fledgling nation during Manifest Destiny's industrial expansion. 'Interesting' because, it can be

Peace Within the Chaos.

            Peace within the chaos?   The last eight months have been chaotic.   Or at least they fit my idea of what it is to be ‘chaotic.’   Try this on for size: incredibly sad but ultimately fruitful breakup with a serious boyfriend of nearly three years, a week of unexpected service in Honduras, three months studying art in Tuscany, the sobering deaths of two very different family members, a solo spring break romp in Croatia, two months of unbelievable joy as a summer camp counselor, and now the first week of my senior year of college.   And the surprise center?   I’m doing fine.   Great, in fact!   The emotional unpacking of this last year could have gone in so many negative directions, but somehow, I’ve managed to emerge unscathed.   Changed, yes, but for the better.   I can almost feel the changes happening.   In the literal sense, there were days over the summer, after all of my international travels were done, that I would look in the mirror and swear I was looking at a grow