the woman first fell down

when the brick hit her head

came out of nowhere

thought she was dead

but then it bounced off

and when she took a moment alone

to collect herself

she noticed that the brick has grown

into two separates

stacked side by side

she blinked then

a third had arrived

they kept popping up

faster and faster

until she found herself surrounded

by walls of mortar and plaster



there’s a man with one thousand

tally marks on his back,

on for every

step forward he’s taken.

they’re hidden and no one

sees them but him.

he knows the progress

he’s making.


but sometimes, it’s not

enough to step,

again and again

with blinders on.

you have to raise your eyes

to the sun.

and consider the others

walking the road your on.


that is the mistake

of the tally mark man:

he doesn’t include

others in his plan.

you have to help others

step on their way,

or else you’ll be alone

on the path one day.

and you’ll see that not

all progress is straight.

the selfish goal

is cheap bait.

you will go fast,

but not far.

you will end up tired, lonely,

with a back full of neat scars.



I spent countless hours

searching for you,

only to push you away,

now that you’re here.

it’s an odd thing to say,

but even stranger to live.

it’s true, though,

abundantly clear.

I chaffed when you

got to close to me,

and that is what scared me,

so I backed away.

I know that it’s not

what you intended,

but it’s the reason,

I’ve changed since that day.

you are important,

and I do care.

I just have to find

the way to open up

in a way that leaves

me able to connect

while also not letting me

be vulnerable.

I feel like if I told you

all this you’d understand.

I want to, and I will soon,

I believe, and I plan.

But for now, I have more

cleaning up to do.

I have to settle me

before talking with you.



I had a dream that

I was in the french revolution,

surrounded by cannon smoke

rising up above the noise,

and I run to you

and together we escape

the land of war,

to eat baubles and play with toys.

I don’t care that my friends are dead.

don’t let my tears prove me wrong.

don’t let my actions get in your head.

this chant is a sorrow song.

I had a dream that

I was in the french revolution,

with blood on my clothes

and pain in my back.

we were under attack,

and that’s all there is to it:

to fugitives in a fallow duet.



it started off even,

but then he sacked the exchange —

he was deranged,

hitting me with anything in range,

but I played precisely,

and the attack was tamed,

and he faltered,

letting me steal a piece, engaged

in a lively battle,

but then I stumbled and gave it back

end up in an even end,

and he went on the attack.

I tried to fight back,

but it was too late:

I resigned to the master

before checkmate.



haiku gonna save me

life enslave me

try to hold me down,

to tame me.

destroy something nice

then blame me.

then I get all up in my head

and get blame-y.

it’s a shame, see?

living in a made up world

full of funny games

and twisted stakes.

but I’m just talking

about nothing —

that’s all it takes.



I pay for an ounce in cash.

purple, high-resin hash.

I’m not about to make the dash,

call someone over with the stash.

comes with baggies in a flash —

we smoke a pipe down to the ash.

elevate until we almost crash.

tip them with a quick smash,

five seconds or less like stevie nash,

then set them out like the trash.

another beautiful birthday bash.