this has
this is
i dont
we just
carefully calculated
across populated rooms
Save 2 or 3 tasks
for one trip
I can wait
i have to limit
the exposure
wet palms
heart palpitations
limited eye contact
it’s an event
veins wet with adrenaline
straight to the brain
mind racing
mouth dry
tongue numb
focus on the chipped paint
the open window
the ceiling tiles
the wave of air through my fingers
i can feel the eyes
meticulously scanning
for mistakes
for minor imperfections
visible fear
i smile
not with the eyes
trying not to give myself away
while perspiration pools
across my forehead
just until my journey ends
and i am back
in my personal space
of swiveling faces
and glances that melt
survival survival
perceived but not felt
when the storm clears
my eyes walk across the room
up and down the walls
the room has remained untouched


The dialogue of “noble leaders”:

You see, we’ll give them the ILLUSION of power. Things will look right, but not be QUITE right. It won’t be enough for them to question it. If we keep them in the dark, they won’t fight. Drastic changes cannot happen too quickly, or that will set off some internal alarms. There will be a frenzy in the streets. They could easily overpower us, as we’re so outnumbered. It has to be gradual. We need to distract them, to divert their attention elsewhere so they’re even less likely to notice what we’re doing. The payout will be HUGE.

The Wheel

Over time, the magic lessens but you don’t see it for so long. You just don’t realize it until one day you wake up and it occurs to you that this is all there is: life bound to a never ending contract. You trade all your time for resources which you have no TIME to enjoy. It becomes increasingly clear that every day is just another turn on the same small wheel. Hours are time consuming and monotonous. Your life revolves around money. Your existence and your ability to survive is based upon how much you have. You will spend your entire life reliving the same day. Fleeting moments of happiness and laughter slip through your fingers before you even know they’ve ended. You’re always grasping for the next one, but they seem to be sparser each day. We’re here for such a short time. The dinosaurs were here for much longer and they’ve died out so long ago. We’re a blink away from extinction. Once we’re gone, the idea of us will survive for a spec in time. When the idea of us dies, it will be as though we never existed. You worry, stress, hustle, panic, starve, and suffer just to keep the idea of you alive. You struggle just to keep your relationships alive. The thought of dissolving into nothingness is too much to bear. The thought of not being or interacting is difficult to come to terms with. The thought of disconnecting from everything is unbelievable to most. Nothingness is unimaginable. Every idea you’ve ever had, every thought, every interaction, every memory, will cease to exist. Every day we struggle to hang on to a sense of feeling and being, but none of it will matter when we’re gone.


Words on tap


Word drought on other days

Ideas saturating


A water-rich soil

Fostering growth


Renew reuse recycle

A dictionary rearranged



Sometimes your head is open

A convertible with the top down

It all comes rushing in



Sometimes you need to slow down

Before you lose it all


Slow the tap before it overfills

Or Rush to get a second glass

Maybe even a third

If you’re not quick enough

You’ll waste it

A drink for the floor

Thoughts for the bin


Heading West

The train cajoles itself to a rocky stop … You feel the grinding metal … We exchange bodies … Eyes slowly peer up from pillows and blankets…half-asleep… In less than ten minutes the eyes no longer peer … Just a constant changing of positions for the sake of comfort… Baby whines occasionally … Eyes roll and throats heave vexed sighs … The train shifts, stutters, And shakes clumsily… The air fills with daydreaming and light chatter … Cluttered yet distant…The chatter feeds daydreams with background noise, setting a faraway tone

You aren’t

Through the Spiral staircase

Clairvoyant Coast


Melody hummed

Beneath the backdrop

Grasping for a place

In and out of reach

Familiar images cascade


Are pleasant times




A deck of cards


52 pickup

On memories

Glimmering gleaming

And then fading

Falling in streams before you


Ribbons of time

None survive


You are

You aren’t