Dis-jointed Connection

Dis-jointed Connection

I have loved more often than I have taken full breaths.
The caverns of my heart that are left

are ancient.
Predating hints of depression that I ward off using the leftover vapors
from tears of pass lovers.
Hiding under the covers with others
To escape responsibility.
Which vice shall I indulge in this time?
The bottle whispers to me when I’m faced with rejection.
It seems that pouring my heart into a shot glass is too much for some women.
They don’t like it straight.
So I pretend to be uninterested on dates.
I have to create the ruse that I have someone else to fallback on.
This is exhausting.
I’ve grown use to being the vacation.
Rarely am I the destination.

Impurities trickle down my neck
As I wonder how I can hold her interest.
The bridge doesn’t easily connect.
As I breathe in her lust.
My lungs begin to fill with regret.

War-cry for Help

War-cry for Help

Trying to awake from slumber.
Tied down by chains painted in gold.
Gold teeth dig into the roof of my mouth.
Making it hard to speak.
I leave a nightmare where we requested a dream.
Swimming endlessly into the oblivion that my strength has created.

I am stronger than my peers, but they have all the power.

Wasting the atoms that the stars gave me to impress my brothers.

I am in need of guidance.

If not,

My son’s doom is painted by my mistakes.

Musings of a Drunken Time-traveler

Musings of a Drunken Time-traveler

I miss her.
And I hate that I do.
The crevices of my intellect rust over without her.
I am nocturnal in a time when the sun never sets.
Unable to reflect because every decision is made anew.
The blueprint is hard to understand without the architect.
I wish she would just call me randomly at an obscure time.


When I’m reading just before leaving work.
Learning about how to better my life.
I wish she would just call me.
I want to say hello to her once more.
I want to greet her one more time.
I sit alone on this throne.
As the poison exhales through my pores.
Thinking about an ancient time when I could hear my heartbeat.

I use to text her poetry.
When we were in love.
And when love seemed absent.
Poetry is what I would send her.
Maybe I should have sent myself in every text.
In every text that I felt to send.
Maybe I should have sent myself.
Started my car and drove to where she was.
I often wonder if she doubted my devotion.
My love.
If she doubted that I felt for her the way I did.
If I felt like the rings of Saturn only remained in place because of her.
My best memories of my life include her.
Did my parents fail in sheltering me from harsh truths that I could not yet fathom?
Or was she simply more than I could bare.
I want another.

Boy of Flora

Boy of Flora

I waited for the river to reach me.
I stood there with my toes clutching at the earth.
Burying my roots into the ground.
Waiting to be watered.
The sun glaring, burning as the coils of my hair extended to the blue sky.
My skin pulsed with blood as the wind juked around the trees that surrounded me.
My breath ebbed and flowed from my soul to my lungs.
My body was it’s own organ.
A cell that belonged to a colossus of unimaginable scale.
Yet the simplicity of life is found in quiet.
Loud silences that echoed underneath my shades.
Traversing my gold plated bones.


Stitching It Together

Stitching It Together

I am a fan buying a woman gifts.
Connecting the dots
As I shop for myself with the person I spend moments with.
Locating the rift
In our personal wardrobes.
Remembering conversations where I was told.
Her favorite type of clothes.
Careful calculations as I offer suggestions to complete the equation on what it is they desire.
Cropped photos of sweaters of different shades waiting for her to give me the OK.
The way her face grins as she steps into the sundress that I suggest.
I know what she likes.
If I would get it wrong she would send me quickly back to the drawing board.
Here I am

Figuring her out
One garment at a time.

Are You Sure You Want To Delete This File?

Are You Sure You Want To Delete This File?

Nostalgia hit me today.

I compiled a to-do list for the day like I always do. Today I planned to purge my Facebook of all the pictures from when I use to party every weekend with friends. Some of who are still around and others that have moved on with their lives.

I stumbled onto old photos of me and an ex.

You know, ‘the ex.’

The one that put you on that spiral downward; like the water running down the kitchen sink. The water you used to wash the coffee mug that she gave you as a gift on a random day.

I decided to look back at old memories. Scrapping the walls of the hollow parts of my heart that will lay dormant for the rest of my life. The spaces that she used to occupy. A start up that didn’t generate enough revenue to stay afloat so now it’s just an abandoned overpriced office space that no one will be able to afford.

Videos of music festivals, nightly strolls, and fun campus events from the college that we both attended.

The video that told me to call it quits was a video of her standing at a bar bobbing her head to live music. And just when I was about to stop recording she looks at me. Not at the camera on the phone that’s recording her, but at me. And a smile stretches itself across her face. Her eyes squinting from the weight of her happiness. And in that moment as I look at the video I smile back at her. Wishing I could reach through the screen and tell her how sorry I was for not listening hard enough. How sorry I was for not placing myself​ in her shoes when all she needed me to do was digest every syllable that left her lips that night she cried to me in the car.

I didn’t delete the video. Not yet. Maybe the next time I try to purge the mistakes from my life I’ll have the guts to.



In a misguided attempt to fly without wings he fell to his doom. Living his life based on the opinion of his peers. He made no room for himself inside his soul. Shoving and constricting. Twisting and bending to fit into the iron box that was constructed by people who didn’t even know his last name. In the day time he played video games and read research about evolution while listening to Herbie Hancock.

At night he roamed the streets while kicking over trashcans filled with his parent’s expectations. Wondering in his mind if they too, were misguided. Howling at the moon like a crazed wolf. Waking up in places unfamiliar. Next to warm bodies that held onto him like he was the last breath that they would ever need. Holding him down like vines over abandoned concrete. His soul waiting on the street sweeper to cleanse the debris.

He laid there; In a catatonic state, wondering.

“Why doesn’t anyone rescue me?”

He is use to being the one that people retreat to.

When the front line is being bombarded by arrows. When the spears strike from a distance that doesn’t allow retaliation.

He stands with his arms extended toward the chaos-

not expecting for anyone to save him.