Her Flower is the Rain

She absently plays with the stitches across her lips. Her eyes have more sky than sky. Laughter like wind chimes she holds out her hands to collect the rain hides all her light where nobody is allowed and I’ve walked past her a million times a million times.

When Dreams Become Dried Husks

It’s always time for the rodeo now that I’ve firmly accepted the fetal position as a way of life. Because when doubt comes barging in like a mad cocaine pirate I welcome it on board with streamers and balloons. She says that I used to be somebody while the mirror lies in the trash in […]

Waiting For The Sun

I don’t know where the light is anymore in all of this running around. Grace has left me and I’m still young bent from callous, careless hands left a beaten graffitied trashcan turned over and motionless at the mouth of an alley. There is always a child screaming into my ear from somewhere deep inside. […]