I used to twirl, I used to fall on purpose; Lie on my back and look at clouds, I made pictures out of pinecones I cast spells upon corn to conjure up the wind and stamped the earth with raspberries I smashed between my toes. I used to laugh at the toothy burrs, Unafraid. … Continue reading 1997 [Wild.]
I might feel sad, that like these leaves— I’ll fall for you and fall again. But falling means I’m still alive Yes, falling means I’m still alive.
I don’t hate you, not at all. In fact we need each other. But you– You don’t understand my role in it all. You just keep reaching for my light, Nourished by my boundless energy: How I can dance on paper walls And fill a room Until it’s bursting at the seams with brightness. Your… Continue reading Photosynthesis.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Here I am, friend. Look inside. My panes are transparent; You may gaze upon my shadows But don’t let them distract you From my fearless light. I will scatter golden fractals Like sun-marbles Into every shadowed corner of this place. Come in. Come in. … Continue reading Window.
I am a weed Poking out from cracked cement; Between two coasts, East and west, Roots never really reaching too deep Into the earth.
There’s a natural turning point in childhood when we become increasingly aware of ourselves and hypercritical of others. We notice things more vividly as if a fog has been lifted from our eyes. Did that not-so-close family friend of ours always have a moustache? Was that fence always yellow? I’ve never noticed that Aunt Jenny’s thighs look like a drooping cheese… Continue reading The End of Childhood