poem fifty one.

blatant social commentary becomes chemistry an important conversation tainted by emotion and expectation colored crimson it drips

poem fifty.

how can a place feel like home when it’s the raw drawn out shortness of breath space we create that i yearn for?

poem forty nine.

i like the lilt the words create tumbling tumbling down they spin a torturous storm of syllables tumbles dry on high heat the color seeps blood red to pink i grasp at a letter floating my fingers brush a serif and it’s...

poem forty eight.

how nice to speak of thoughts that once were everything all encompassing as they dance down your chin like crumbs from this morning’s toast a slight inconvenient moment now a mere...