you cannot stop my thoughts with a dot, Period


I should

I want Whitman to knit a sweater for me, something out of fallen leaves and everything he has seen.

I realize I’m only as smart as the things I read. I want God to make something new,
I wonder if I would even recognize it. Would we cadge it, sell it, exploit it, shove a camera in its face. I remember I haven’t been to the woods in some time. I should make more time for trees and nature. Everything likes to be heard. I should make more music. I should tap into the vein that carries my poetry and nourish the healthy habits. I should make rituals, write your walls, rich you all, rich your falls, visceral.

don’t let your love clot.

Perfume in the Wind

Soft like a fragrance
A perfume that’s malleable
Smacks the wind
Shoves against the wall and falls away slowly.
Chipped broken little pieces of the pretty wind
Sipped on by passengers. Inhaled by strangers,
A tough flower knows the rain
A fallen feather knows the dance
We must be feathers in the rain
We may not fly today, but soon the wings will dry
and we will be able to soar in the warmth of summer.

Eyes and Teeth

she caught my stare between the eyes and teeth

she smirked, but held the full smile back like the sky holds the rest of the moon from us

I wanted to love and whisper I wanted to tell those green eyes some secretes they have never heard  before something my voice has never done before. Some gentle storm I could brew like coffee. A cappuccino landscape and a round lump of sugar in the sky, she’s sweet beneath the bridge that breaks when sugar melts 

scattered stars could tell my heart 
they could talk

a silent restless crusade of elements
meeting like long lost friends
reunited in
harmony in
peace in

the cooling sand,
the darkening sky

where age and youth trade wisdom and pieces of the puzzle,
becoming a little more whole with a little something
less to forget.

wordsandlostphotographs asked: You write really beautifully, thank you for sharing your words.

Very much appreciated. It’s a nice feeling to know your experiences and the words and forms they take are appreciated.

paytoncolinphotography asked: "Roads". Very powerful expression. Poignant. I feel an urge to stand thankful. Uplifted. Grateful. For these are the most urgent things... Thanks for sharing.

I’m very glad you found something in it that strikes a chord with you. Truly a gift to be able to share.


Easy Tears

Easy tears down a weary cheek, a trembling lip like a silent earthquake that erupted from the heart. A warrior sized heart, a peaceful epicenter. 
Which is only just the vessel of the soul
and everyone silly says you can’t see the soul.

These stories 

These words stamped down like a hammer into the concrete, rocks polished and 
chiseled smooth like glass, a fine piece of life that resides and the dust of life that leaves a residue and still sits in the air waiting to settle and be swept away. I watched tears for a loss, yearning youths misty eyes. Another mans tears as I hold the hand. Burst, because we exist, because we exit too soon, because we cannot backpack backwards and ripen a rotting fruit to somehow flip a nickel to the time keeper to press pause and to skip back to a time to correct an emotion to better explain a love, the form of a former self.
The form of my former self

Sadly You Left Silently

"Sadly you left silently,
with twisted fragments of whispers in the wind.
Lock up the moon the silver summer sunrise will be here soon.”




The roads we never touch
The nothings we hold
The whispers we let go
The smoke and fog we forgot to flame
The music we forgot to make
The pieces of Heaven we let slip out of our pockets.
The color we never pushed against the canvas.

The heart we keep and forget it has ever chipped a corner.
We’re everything the light creeps under.
Beneath a moon that never forgot our names.
Crescent shaped hearts after all the lovers.  

Heart shaped like the moon.

The Curtains we forget to close.
The smiles we left behind.


The Mountains We Make

And as we exhale
What has this day done to me.
Living like dreams could only be touched in dreams.
It’s the perfectness, that escapes me when I’m with you.
It’s the weightlessness I feel when you wrap yourself around me.
It’s the sleep that keeps me connected to you.
It’s the sleep we touch each other in.
It’s the dreams you keep inside of me.
It’s the eyes I’m lost in.
It’s the crescent sun and a piece of the moon.
It’s the valleys we see the light through and the beautiful Mountains,
we make.


Dawn and Ashes

A crisp yellow sun smacks the black out of the sky
and orange drips like candle wax
and every shadow that had a name, forgets to whisper
the sun rules the day yet once again.

sleep loses it’s hold on gentle souls
and the body wakes what the dreams didn’t take,
the spirit wrestles the devil in the velvet horizon
and another soldering day
another work at play.
 A sweet fight of love and grace and the shit the world tosses your way
until the sweat and blood evaporates.
Until the brass colored sky sinks through the rays into your ocean.

The moon can’t store all the dreams and prayers or crossed fingered whispers
make stars your safety deposit boxes in the sky
and keep your hands clutched around the beautiful things,
until dawn burns and becomes ashes fading,
Be soft and warm inside your cliche
Be the purest you can be,
between breath and exhale

Above the smoke

The worlds a cigarette. I’m just trying to get some clean air before it burns out and teach you how to fly above the smoke.

enclosing eyes

I don’t get butterflies anymore when she enters the room. The fleeting of flutters, when wings have fallen silent on an empty floor.

Though I still find her beautiful and I get lost in lovely lonely secret memories of her. I see her and there is a rush of the past that snaps back like an echo in the crack of a branch in the Forrest.

I remember her eyes just the way they are now. No new mannerisms. Just these new shoes and I wonder if a man bought these for her. I don’t care because I feel our history out weighs the honeymoon and I’ve seen more sunsets in her eyes to know that I was never looking in the wrong direction. I wish I could lengthen the wick for some chance to lengthen the night. Some nights are never meant to fall asleep as in nights like this and I ask myself. “what if these butterflies opened their eyes.”  



Until I’m a Ghost

Like our days were strong. Follow something solid until shadows break against your back. Borrow some life from death and never repay the debt. Twist dreams into reality and carry a pail full of weapons suitable to win any war with your heart. Sometimes the softest things can be the hardest to learn. I’ve never had stars in my pocket, the dust always seems to settle in the most peculiar places. I’ll be here until I’m a ghost, dust twisted with ashes.