The Last Time

your hair blew curls
into the wind
when you looked
with chestnut eyes
straight into mine
and lied

i knew the lines
in your face
moved with mine
you fooled us both
i cut the ties

cared about your life
more than mine
but you always had


I was Seven When She Loved Me

My mother sits outside with our neighbor, drinking red wine, mingling with the starry sky. I run, barefoot and fast, into the night. She is at ease while we live in Sayreville. I’m not sure if it’s the wine or the sound of the cicadas. In the summer, my mother is free. As am I, being a child, playing with the earth. 

Years later, we become shackled. Far apart, but stuck together with tree sap. 

Saving the Planet

Saving The Planet

                                     Earth day slapped me in the face
with blue and green continents
that turned black — not only at night.
Smoke stacks and bright lights                    escaping hustle bustle
rustled the trees

when the wind blew                            across              the              concrete        jungle
and into my lungs,
it tasted                                            like dust, like lost children and struggling   mothers,
like soap and milk cartons and M&M’s.

I took a bite of my life and it tasted like trees.

my breaths echo off gray walls
as the candle dances orange
I watch with closed eyes
I listen

my heart is a bass drum
the hum flows through my lungs
Ohm Ohm Ohm
surroundings drown out like
living room TVs left on overnight

deeper I travel into my blood
soft pink flesh sits inside
my hard skin protects
Where am I?

balloon in my belly
expands and contracts as I
suck the air from the walls

there is a destination
here we are, always

Taken the other day on the roof parking lot at Newport Mall..


Red Goo


lies within       me
red light bulbs burn hot
tomato sauce that bubbles
on stove
my mother’s fiery eyes
I clean the kitchen every night
but it
with crumbs in between cracks of floor
sticking to
of feet
               why bother
                                                             it doesn’t
when it just is never clean
Consistency is key
I am Power
   burning through blue veins
       burning through the stove
 when the        grill pan                     smokes
I am Ice
  like my mother’s stare
     like my feet on the tile
  like snow


Wrote this while I was at Sherwood Forest for a 100 word group…

Wicked green trees envelope these
woods that surround our home
is a canopy, is a tent, is a tarp

Dirt beneath feet and shoes and
bodies leaning on each other
holding hands holding hearts

One in

Pictures capture moments but not
feelings that encompass beings
when life stops between time

Sharing spaces, faces, places
feels brand new meanings
connect in brains, lives

Life is green and brown
I am a leaf
We are a tree

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