To pass by the sea & not see it, only when coppered red by yesterday’s rain. To Feel only the wrath of the sun in the breeze. . . . This I know: . . . Grief is blindness.
Rome was not destroyed in a day New worlds seep out of broken things And When they are thrown away we cling to them. One day with all honesty. And fearlessness, we’ll come clean with who we are. Birds with metallic songs in our throats Maybe there’s no meaning, but life is only deemed worthwhileContinue reading “New Worlds”
Caught up in this procession, all the disgruntled parts of me resist and yell, but their currencies are muted screams. Whatever this is, it is bigger than me. When I get there, do this one thing for me. Do not neglect me in the dirt. Do not pour me lovingly in the sea. I cannotContinue reading “The Procession”
I have been before, though maybe not exactly here. The truth of this lies in the depths of my bones. I feel it. My soul remembers vague sensations of the wild expansive freedom from that lost time. Some days I feel it is the wisdom of those forgotten ancestors, who spoke to us in hushedContinue reading “Ital Light”
It’s turning the key to be greeted only by the welcoming arms of solitude. It’s turning my back to you and the world to find the solitary path to my dreams. It’s the morning commute on the highway, buffeted only by the sea and the laws of men. These things tell me who I am.Continue reading “The Bird”
The Stories I am the waking of dust after the first drops of rain. I feel the nervous jitter of unspoken stories in my stomach and on my lips, and there’s this recurring sensation of feeling like a mute. I am the alone, standing with upturned palms to the sky. The stories fall on meContinue reading “The Stories”
Friends, do not call me a poet, and I do not mislead you with false modesty. That label has the feel of sharp nails on my skin. I do not have the words, the rhythm, or the inspiration. It’s a heavy stone in my mouth. I do know what I am. I’m a reporter, aContinue reading “Do Not Call Me”