The sandstone edge beneath my feet is floury dust,

that’s craving only water.

I tighten the weak muscles in my core,

hoping to stay strong and

hoping I lose my footing.

In the summer it was firm.

The sun ran through my blonde hair,

and past the curves in my skin.

My shoulders were soft and I dressed in carnation,

billowing and light.

A hot breeze caught beneath my wing,

and placed my toes centred on the lip.

It’s getting cold now and,

the leaves are turning.

They slice back and forth as they fall off the trees,

the wind urging their ears.

Forcing them into sticky black corners

where they will fade to brown and begin rotting.

The precipitation threatens paralyzation.

Heavy clouds will fire off ice bullets,

forcing the earth to dance.


Inflatable dreams at needle point aching to be popped

The angry pro stitchers fingers are getting sweaty grasping at the tiny needle

Their milk crates are dented from constant pressure and continued sitting


Thick dreams at night with orgies and oozing glitter

The stiff buttons are hard to press

Yet so satisfying to touch

And take-out fries are never the same as crisp virgin ones

Mouths salivating at the thought

Anxiety builds and the glitter orgy ends


Run your hands on the picnic tables getting as many slivers as you possibly can

Slur your words from the pain of the wood chips embedded in your skin

Wooden floors drip with blood

An endless search for the first aid kit

Iced hands that feel as heavy as blocks of wood


Those cigarettes are eaten for 20 dollar bills and the party begins to pick up

Grayscale nights with a bossy little personality to match

Crisp floating memories weighing heavy on your chest

your head

and your back

Forgotten Balsamic

Hung on a Sunday,

Filing for a loan.

Sewing buttons back on pants,

Still afraid of the family dog.


Longing for ice cream on the steps of the general store.

Aesthetically pleasing 99 cent lollipops,

Unfinished hashbrowns.

A lettuce eating competition,

And stakes are high.

Moving Van Blues

Steps and Cement.

Do I even want this?

A soundtrack to angsty times.

The triple shadows call out,

Screaming with every step.


Heartbeat quickens.


Thoughts are like a map.

The park is empty and we stand behind a moving truck.

Mumbled lyrics and paranoid stares.

A man name Isaiah.




In the spring, the fields and ditches 

flood beside the lake.

When the wind is calm,

the pools are still, 

And the sky is overcast.

The reflections create a monochrome world.

Driving by,

Eye darting from pool to pool 

You can get lost 

From the world that is your own.

The beauty found in these reflections 

is otherworldly yet simple.

Like the most elegant black and white 


And you long for a world similar

But as the summer gets hot, 

The pools will disappear,

And so will the beauty.