Paw Paw, Michigan

Coloring and blurry memories of visiting the elves in the forest and riding bikes like horses until we could close our eyes on the big hill down the street, wind picking us up and taking us to a castle in the trees only to be dropped down between the cracks in the pavement. I remember seeing a large dog, a black wolf who kept me safe when the elves fled and I went beyond the property lines. Hiding in trees and hovels, living off of the stuff of legends.

[Written December 5th, 2016]


The Month of March

The dreams based on bliss call me
back and forth between edges
both freezing and melting
between your hips.
This aesthetic monstrosity
spitting in the face
of my own holy war
against ugliness and comfort.
Oh, to be content with regularities
without the absurd making
the real feel unreal.
I rage against this new reality
gasping for unsung air.

[Written December 2nd, 2016]

A Poem for Lovers

Give me the moon.
Fling a rope
and pull her down.

Chip a piece away and
set it in gold filigree before
you put her back in the sky.

A night dancing in times gone by,
fueled by candles and velvet and
silk ribbons in my hair.

I want dark lipstick
and light champagne,
a slow waltz a gilded ballroom.

Share a hazy evening
on a balcony overlooking rose gardens,
then a languid morning.

Give me romance,
this dreamy existence,
art in the form of you.

[Written December 8th, 2016]

Musings pt. 4

To be human is to create, to reach into the void of shared consciousness in order to blossom between each other. We share and bloom and shed our feathers until we’re bare. Creation breeds more creation in the making. Humans need to discover, make, mold, tend. Unchecked, you’ve left the garden in my throat overflowing with lush plants I cannot give a name to. Fill our lungs with new air, create a sound heretofore unknown to our newly made eyes.

[Written January 13th, 2017]


Healing is just like the poets and therapists say. It’s coloring your hair at 3am and drinking too much coffee so your entire skeleton vibrates and screaming out the window about how she ruined you. It’s quiet and dead eyes at noon and forgetting to exist until your stomach caves in. It’s losing and finding and losing again. It’s sitting on a park bench a year later, alone or with somebody else or you’re gone entirely.

[Written January 13th, 2017]

Take me back to London, please.

We’re holding hands
and walking through Russell Square.
When the musician on the corner
starts to play an old standard,
you pull me along beside you and into your arms.

You take me away
to a world of antique dresses
and sparkling, greyscale innocence.

My unsure legs find themselves tangled
between yours and your kisses muffle my laughter
as the crowd cheers us on in this waltz.

The street corner melts into your apartment
and we find that we’ve created this,
music and joy and infinite possibilities.

[Written December 26th, 2016]

Thank you, friend.

As soon as the yelling starts I’m nonexistent. In my head there are overgrown gardens full of impossible blossoms and an unreal perfume gives me a heady feeling of safety. In this world of beauty I’ve created just for hiding, I can’t quite hear the music. I get close to a soft twinkling in my ear when the harsh words knock me back to this subjective reality. I pull my head beneath the blanket and squeeze my eyes tight until my head is pounding and I can’t find my garden or my music or my reality. You find me in the chaos after what must be days and pull me from a thicket of blue sunflowers, hands soft and safe. When I finally open my eyes you’re sitting beside me and I’m not in my garden, but nobody is screaming or snapping or throwing things and that’s all I can ask for.

[Written December 23rd, 2016]