Slugs on wet pavement,

Slime and grime and grey cement,

Death indifference.

Grey skies do not shine,

Nothing ever goes so right,

I am not in love.


An ode to dandelions,

Sparkles of yellow in a night sky of green grass,

It’s easy to take advantage of the simple beauty of such a flower,

After all, they turn up everywhere, in yards, gardens and cracks in the concrete,

But I recon if people stopped to see them as I do,

Lying in the grass on a windy spring afternoon,

They would appreciate them for what they are.

Tiny stars,

Bright white petals that shimmer and glimmer from the droplets of water left by morning showers,

Twinkling slightly as the breeze blows them jently back and forth.

The wind blows the clouds north,

The sun shines through, illuminating the flowers in a rainbow of refracted colours.

You where a dandelion once,

To me anyway,

Before you flew to New York.

Did I ever love you?


Chords ring out,



An old house,

A place where history danced in bright frilly skirts,

Once vibrant paint now peels and flakes,

Life flies,

And dies,

And leaves behind arched entryways into what used to be the everyday,


You can still hear them singing,

The rhythm is always.


When the world was young,

Still shadows,




Nothing is anything if no eyes see it,

If no ears ring at its sound,

If no creature greedily gulps down its taste like mother’s milk,

If no pleasant scent wafts into the round noses of children impatient for their next meal,

You cannot touch anything,

There isn’t anything,


Light is everything,

Light makes the ground soft in our hands,

It makes us squint at the brightness of the day,

It prompts the flowers to bloom,

It makes sweet honey melt on our tongues,

Light is birdsong,

Light is the palest white and the darkest black,

Light is something,

There is no darkness.


Monica is bad,

Colin is also a creep,

What the actual fuck.

Stars in the night sky,

Eon’s late notice of light,

Reality is fake.

I am at war today,

And tomorrow tomorrow,

Blood spills in my mind.


My body is a cage,

A prison of flesh and blood and bone,

It has me trapped,

Four hundred thousand feet under the ground,

My mind is a dungeon,

My thoughts thick iron bars,

I will never be free of these mirror shard chains,

They hold me now,

The glass punctures my ashy skin,

All I see is me,

And I hate me.

Why won’t I get out of my head,

Out of my body,

Out of anywhere,

Fly away you bitch of a thing,

You ugly midge,

You parasite,

I won’t be a wench to you,

I won’t,

I can’t anymore.

Out damned spot,

Spot of skin and hair and teeth,

Spot of doubt and loathing,

Cleanse me of me,

Wash me and dry me,

Clean me so I can leave this cell,

Undo my shackles you coward,

I know you won’t,

I know I won’t,

You’re an idiot,

A fucking fool.

My body is a cage,

My mind is a gutter,

It’s mucky down in here,

Filthy grey water swirls with thick shiny oil,

It reeks of death,

All I smell is necrosis,

A hundred million rotting corpses are piled up in my brain,

I can’t see anything,

My eyes are all clouded over,

My body is a mockery,

At least I think so,

You look like a boy,

Fuck you,

You sound like a boy,

Fuck you,


I wish I could dance,

I wish I could spread my wings and not have you call me an ugly fool,

You are a fool,

A fool and a failure is all you’ll ever be,

You stand here,

I stand here trapped inside me,

There is no one else,

Fuck everyone else,

They devour you without noticing,

Smash you cage and all,

Swallow you without a thought,

You are nothing to anyone,

I feel sick.


When I was a scraggly haired wild child,

And road I ran was vibrant and green,

I ran the road with bare toes,

With calloused soles caked in river bank clay,

I thought it would never come off,

I think everybody does,

We feel the mossy forest floor soften our feet,

And say,

Life will always be here,

In the shade of oak trees bent over the babbling brook,

Where the calm excitement of two dozen tiny hands,

Scrambling across the rocks and through the muck,

Fades into quiet nights under redwood canopies,

The campfire smoke burns our memories,

It purifies them,

And tarnishes them,

I remember when we danced across the creek,

Like water striders,

Where every day was Bridge To Terabithia,

When did it all start to change?


Lay me down softly on a square carpet,

Place my head upon a fluffy cloud,

Plug in the old television set,

Let the screen hum to life with static,

Show me my face in the mirror,

Watch with me as it contorts,

Sit on the sofa as my body melts away like a birthday candle,

Revealing hopes and dreams cast asunder.


Feathers palest white,

Deeply belting peaceful tunes,

Rest in peace my love.


Tus dulces labios,

Los extraño en mios,

Estoy perdido.