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I must have fallen asleep 

with my laptop balanced on my chest

the heat and the weight,

a somewhat looming annoyance.

It had become unbearable

but I could not wake 

to remove it.

Quickly I realized that 

my legs and feet had disappeared

beneath me and my hips, soon to go

so I lifted my arms above my head

and reached out towards you.

In the moment, I could not speak

nor hear, or smell to that matter

but that I flailed out my arms

for an extended hand 

or heart

and I thought it strange 

that in your hopes to save me

you pulled out from your wallet 

a crisp one hundred dollar bill.

And I took it. 

But soon my arms grew tired 

so I tucked them in close

with Benjamin Franklin 

who was evermore hot 

and heavy.

Paper Crane

Paper Crane

I didn’t even cry

I didn’t even cry

when you stepped your foot down on me

this time you did so well

flattened me

an old piece of gum 
turned to black 
on the sole of your sperry-topsiders

No, It didn’t hurt much.

Though, my creases

you’ve ironed them to the ground.

Your weight just overbearing—

my heart I’ve been protecting

has now been squashed.

My wings can no longer move

and my neck, you’ve turned into

ugly crooked shapes.

You’ve undone me alright

and my favorite pieces

you’ve worn their edges soft.

No paper doll am I.

Please take notice where you’ve put me

Pick me up and fold me

once, twice, five and six.

You’re really good, you know

all the steps by heart.

Voilá! You’ve made me functional again

my wings can flap my belly puffs out proud

for you and your table top.

You give me a head tilt and slight smile

prop me back up there where I belong

beside my friends Kate, Robbin and Sam..

On His Voice

In my dream I heard a voice over the waters;
deep, like thunder 
in the dark sky.


It was powerful 
yet majestic,
it broke to pieces, the oaks and cedars
of the Eastern deciduous forest.


It woke me and I lept from my bed, and 
it captivated me with hot flashes in the sky. 
I heard the voice again, this time it shook
all the hanging picture frames.


When finally, I gathered enough
courage to lift my covers 
I noticed the trees had been twisted clean
and my walls stripped bare. 

Snow globe

There are a lot of people who we look up to. 

Their words, which inspire us. Their touch 

is familiar and warm, and it calms 

screams of outrageous fortune.  

These are the ones who we count on 

to change the world. 

'Look at them and what they can do!'

There, beauty 

we'll show you a thousand times

as we shake the glass globe 

gently placing it back on the pedestal 

sit back and watch the flurries begin to circle

and with kindness, we call out, 

'Love, stand tall.' 

Sky is womb, she's the moon

Video blog entry I guess. (The audio is very soft--might need earbuds to hear)
This is a song by Bon Iver called Flume. Its got great lyrics :)


I am my mother's only one
It's enough
I wear my garment so it shows
Now you know

Only love is all maroon
Gluey feathers on a flume
Sky is womb and she's the moon

I am my mother on the wall, 
with us all
I move in water, shore to shore;
Nothing's more

Only love is all maroon
Lapping lakes like leary loons
Leaving rope burns -- Reddish ruse

Only love is all maroon
Gluey feathers on a flume
Sky is womb and she's the moon

//Bon Iver

Freezing Rain

Today I saw a man 

hurrying down the streets in a thick dark peacoat heavy like the snow 

upon rigid shoulders that have not seen sun since 

the last time his daughter asked him to play in the sand. 

She poked around his pockets for stale candy 

and found a large hand and a tight squeeze. 

His fingers now wind-chapped and dry 

nuzzled deep into the small hole 

that lost him a couple of keys and coins.

He turned the corner and we parted ways

and both of us shuffled across the slippery roads 

forward and slow while accumulating freezing droplets of 

rain from the edge of our noses and brows

until we melted clear into icicles 

narrow dagging strips 

on this cold day.

There is a small rock in my shoe

There is a small rock in my shoe.

Probably accumulated from walking these dusted roads—

when and where, I do not remember.

But on this cold day, my feet feel nothing

except for this rock that has

lodged itself conveniently under my big toe

eagerly toying with my strings.

A resilient old friend

carrying such minute annoyance

but a grave one also,

the only consistency in my life.

Poem of the day

Another Reason I Don't Keep a Gun in the House by Billy Collins

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.

A Poem from a couple of months ago

Dirty dishes

I hear the engines roaring downstairs.

They do every now and again.

The stale air lifts the smell of gasoline

through these shy windows—the Burks, they must be off again.

I swirl the last of my cereal into the sea of sugary milk

a new addition to my pile of dirty dishes 

and coffee-laced mugs.

The room seems small now       and rather grey

The couches,

dusty old things. Their color faded, fuzz.

If I wanted to I could probably dig up a couple of things;

knick-knacks and photo frames,     

a crumpled up tissue or two.

But I’d rather just look out at the streets.

The women with their barking dogs and helpless babes,

and the occasional jeep pulling into the raucous garage.

If I wanted to, I could go upstairs and

rest these blank eyes,

but I fear there would be no dream awaiting me.

So all I can do is sit here at this tea stained table

and remember how you hated when I didn’t do the dishes.