To Identify Time of Death

Mostly diluted
Ever so
A tad bit acidic
I was given a chance to feel
Instead I got intoxicated,

Left knowing but distant
Always unable to conceal intention
Drowning in vegetative stories
Remember when?

Loss is a virtue often experienced
Yet so rarely noticed-
Does nature understand
That I feel death as ferns in freezing weather?
As blissful white clouds floating
Such that heaven seems earth-bound?

A shoulder to breathe
Sober up nestle nude against cedar tree trunk
Ever so fleeting
It makes sense doesn’t it?
It is absence that becomes the burden
The memory that provides relief
And this body of mine
Is nothing but never present,
Stuck turning rich nectar
Into watered-down interpretations of flowers
In bloom, delaying impact inevitably
A world concocted with jaded connotations

Life has been made
Continues to exist
Going to cities and learning to keep secrets,
People have spoken to this face of mine
Loves lost and renewed
Though a daydream it seems

Waiting to wake up
Upon the snap of two brittle fingers
Will I remember the past four years?


Remission Assembly

Eyes closed
Shielding a field of irises
From the reality of waking,
Skipping footsteps
Flesh seemed weightless
Propelled toward plush images
Receding grass moved
Rhythmically beneath us,
Slipping limestone
Between folds in the river
It’s not enough to be
A presence since passed
Brought to the present again
Even dinosaurs get a second chance
Maybe nothing’s by accident
Standing on the bank
Fire reflecting off a sunset cheek
Where are we
In these millions of layers?

A breeze silky and soft
Shows an entire life
Within falling fragments of hair
A dream-catcher woven
Carried subtle and halcyonic
The night had grown comfortable
Enough to sleep alone,
Wonder contained to wistful songs
Cerulean flowers sang white
While flames flickered-
Beckoning the nature of purpose,
Waiting for the world to decide
Where it might belong
And why

Drowning In Concord

Kaleidoscope sunrise shining collateral
In confidence of vulnerable precedence

Swallowing thorn bushes
To spit out another womb
Nimble grass matted down to make room
For another bout of fermentation-
Fighting newborn flesh with steel and glass

Almost as said simply
If a loss is required
It’s better to offer a facet
Never rightly experienced

Living postmortem is nearly justified
Accepted as reality
For having a heartbeat,
The consequence of loving every meteor shower
Escaping beautiful temptation
Of lighter
And reclamation
Of summer evening,
Fingers furrow passion
For any sign of amelioration
Passage is inescapable
But progress lies
Buried in an elusive state
Of suspension,
Choking down heavy moisture
A recondite sigh grows accustomed
To liquidating human requirements
With each movement made,
The body becomes a staggered succession
Of pallid footprints
Retreating to an unaltered imperative
Of nothingness

Feeling natural was too much to cherish

Being a Bystander

Concentration found
In a head-on collision,
Studied the language
Learned the movement,
At best
We’re stumbling,
Nearly escaping
The door fell off
There was no need
To walk through,
Coming out
On the other side
Life blooming with algae
Change takes more
Than a new haircut
Or bad dream
To be efficient,
Accept the lead
If the first move is made
Being directionless
Is fatal resilience,
Another near miss
Taken for granted
The trouble is in trying to decide
If the immediate wound
Or severed emotional impact
Means that it happened

Fishing on Father’s Day

A reconciliation
Of distance and never being able
To remember,
A reflection is a montage of loss
Like a time lapse of all the faces
I will wear,
None of them will connect
Days to form years
And certainly not offer
An explanation for why
Clothes now provide
More than just warmth in the winter,
Timeline broken apart
Struggling to assemble the fossil record
Of my former self
How can someone be
The sum of their parts
When the pieces are intangible
Objects that breathe more life
On their own
Than when collected?
Escaping recognition
Facing the mirror again,
Sometimes I see mountains
In the background,
Other times it’s a vivid forest
Full of beautiful unity
Never seeing a body
All the places
My everything
Might be


On the hem of a river
Behind the glowing lights
Of a ‘54 Bel Air dashboard
The constellations glisten
With barn owls and reclaimed wood,
Rusted to earth
The ferns have replaced frantic minors
Staring faceless into their hands
Drinking the stagnant sips
Of watered down whiskey
Hiding beneath the backseat,
Silhouettes project
Themselves over skin
Almost a match,
A body between
Memory and transitioning
A feather falling
Believing itself to be a leaf,
The car doesn’t move
Yet we are stricken motion sickness