Poetry, nature, art, and anything else that piques my interest.

Norfolk Midnights

Strata define the Corners:
The Money carves
A Neapolitan Napoleon
Of the Streets omitted,
Included in its Marvel,
Spectacle to the Owners
Of cracking Memories.

The Banks arrest the Sky
In its Inhabitant’s Name.
Yes, the Den in which he lies
To himself about the Cries
He tore down the Day
I built some Hope in these Eyes.
(A small bulding—fireproof.)

Don’t need your Permit,
My Heart has left your Limits.

Don’t need your Presence,
My Hope has left your Essence.

Don’t need you reckless,
My Mind has present Tensions.

Don’t need your Haunting,
My Ears have cut your Breathing.

Yet I need your Presence
To not arrest the Men I meet,

I need your Permit
To clear your Wounds from me,

And I need your Haunting
To lift itself, free.


I ain’t workin’ a Nine-to-Five
To keep myself floatin’
But you’re hauntin’ me, alive,
Rollin’, chokin’
On the Air you creep
Under when you sneak
Into the Thoughts
To crawl in my barren Sheets.

A Bridge to Leave

You speak to my mobile Screen,
A Bee in Vibration keen
In that I can see, feel
Its Distance buzzing here.

Yes, here in my Ears
Where the domestic Fear
Of a Coast without a Pier,
A Bridge you fail to pass—

You don’t ring in Aftermath
As the Veteran’s Past;
You pass the Path
And laugh—post-traumatic—

And you, too, vanish.
Spasm, then Static
Like your Presence: pneumatic,
But no Oxygen to sustain

The Effort I make
To believe I’m “just great”
And totally don’t hate
Building Bridges to never cross.

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."
by Maya Angelou
"When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing."
by Virginia Woolf