Imposing green sepulchers from another planet scratch the backs of white clouds that look like rabbits and dragons and turtles driving motorbikes as they take shape and drift along the blue sea above messy heads. Booted feet crunch on fresh snow mixed with red dirt and I dance and laugh and scoop up a handful… Continue reading Saguaro
I miss my porcelain tub with the claw feet that stood on the black and white checkered floor. That bathroom was a glorified closet and the toilet required courtesy flushes for its century-old system, but every tub I’ve sunk my sore body into since then doesn’t sound the same when I pull my head and… Continue reading Bath
The final sighs of an exhausted heart. It’s a slow death, a toxic buildup of all that was unspoken, unwritten, unadmitted, repeated in a restless mind that sometimes likes to follow the rules. Those sheets of paper, that pen, traveled endlessly and waited for place and purpose to explode in black and white. It was… Continue reading Block
I could swallow this city whole, brambles and weeds and prickly pears and tarantulas and hawks and wild mushrooms and plums and apples and rosehips and all. And I miss you. I could wash it down with the cool water cascading over graffitied rocks melted from mountain run offs that erodes these cliffs we’d walk… Continue reading Charmolypi
Your laugh has the cadence of forgiveness, so we pick up its rhythm where we left off with banter and mirth and the kind of idiosyncrasies that clapped like toy cymbals over and over, a touch point pulse while heat built beneath our feet. In the laughing absolution, one of us steps too far and… Continue reading Music
I’m an old soul because when I hear the crashing of waves against rocky shores I don’t think of the percussive rhythms of the place I’m at but travel from this coast to Santorini, to Okinawa, to Naples, to Brindisi. I see octopi strung up on sailboats with the backdrop of whitewashed buildings. I see… Continue reading Old Soul
May there never come a time I see water without a laugh escaping my lips as my eyes fill with shades of blue blending into green. May I always hold my body with pride for its soft, scarred, tenderness and glorious grace. May I find breaths to laugh at myself when moments of beauty become… Continue reading May
The only time I've dreamed of flying I was laying next to you wrapped in white sheets. Originally written April 12 2018, in a room with sparkling lights.
The first time I cleaned a freshly dead body, I called you. I was submerged in a hot bath hours after my shift ended, Prosecco from the bottle to my lips, and I told you about the eyelids that crept open and disrupted my feeble attempts at sleep. I told you about the color of… Continue reading Simply
Don't test a Scorpio with your ambiguity. Originally written August 2017, sketched April 2018 in a tap room.