A weed pretending to be human

I feel more at home among the trees, As though my body yearns for grass against my skin And leaves around my soul. Like a weed pretending to be human- Growing in the wrong place- Prickly, green and funny shaped And looking for something to uproot me. So I’ll keep pressing flowers between these pages,…

I prefer that to whiskey and ghosts.

Does the storyteller aways have a Spirit in hand, Alone in the dark While spinning his tale? Or can it be a wish? Maybe a child? A lover? A hope? A thought? A feeling? One that isn’t failure, I mean. Or maybe just a cup of tea- I prefer that to whiskey and ghosts.

The Mad Creator

The Mad Creator Mixing poetry and madness In petri dishes made of cardboard Searching for the perfect drink: Make him drunk, But not so he cannot write; Make him numb, But not so he cannot remember his dealings. Make him learn to fly, So he can learn to live like angels To play God on…

Moonlight and Despair

I’m brooding over a mug Of black coffee at 4am, Trying to warm my cold bones And broken heart… Oh please, I drink green tea After my morning yoga; I’m about as happy as it gets. Unfortunately mountains poses And sunrise Don’t sell quite as well As moonlight and despair.

Well, forever?

Yes, I think I will stay for another, For just a little while longer. There’s the smell of loneliness in the air And I am in no rush. Tell me stranger, Why doesn’t forever always last for… Well, forever?