smile bright 

god is sunshine

melting laughter

out the gutter 

something right 

weak hands 

kisses, hugs

keeping straight faced

getting high 

rolling circles 

round my cuboid 

you’re not a big drinker 

and I get so serious 

don’t know what time it was 

lookin’ so perfect 

high hopes

though there’s fire 

burning in the distance 

forever after 

doesn’t exist 


baby spin it 


like the first time 

like the last time 

right now 

right now we got sunshine 

god is light reflecting

off your eyes 



I’ll just keep on
stay with this
ice snow drifts
wheels runnin’ in the dirt
want me to fix it
I’m tired, a kitten
alternating realities, this
psychosomatic whirlwind
it’s feeding
the lights could be dimmer
plant ginger, plant garlic
perhaps it could grow
in the frigid window
just focus, breathing
avocado stay moist
one day, just maybe
you’ll become a tree
our thoughts turn
to words
symbols, reality
sewing seeds
when we talk about
escapades, reveries
little curlicues of stories
open to windows
to worlds
thank you for sharing
music with me
your soul
your laughter
have a nip
a taste of that
sweet nectar
with me

Whatever will be, will be


The future’s not ours.


That’s how I feel when I walk alone. Letting songs run through my mind like they have a thousand times by headphones. Old stories my mind doesn’t like to let go of. Little snippets of him, that time, when I. 

As soon as you try to put it in words, you’ve defined it. 

When you sleep amongst the trees, it’s like their roots reach beneath you, absorbing your sweat and tears. You suck in the clean air trickling from their droopy leaves. Feeding. Giving and recieving. If I could tell you how special this is, the process, I’ve already ruined its beautiful mystery.

Does it feel good? Just like it should?

It’s always happening right now. Everything you could think of. Every single thing. I imagine all of the possibilities, and then I’m brought back to the trees. They speak to me, they point at things. They frown, they tease. The million times I’ve wished I’d had a hand to hold, I let that go, I hold my own. 

If I slip, it’s not your fault, it is my own. 

I see slugs, I kick up rocks along the rainy spraying coast. Walking for hours through marsh lands. I wonder what the term, “sound mind,” really means and then I end up on the street. This isn’t where I planned the path would end and my heart skips a beat. A woman’s house, isolated in Courtenay, advertising reiki. 

Come back, the Spirits beg, they scream at times to me.