inside a box

wrapped in a bow

under wrinkled paper


blue roses

at my door


I am a wildflower

I am a meadow

I am a wide open space


you can’t sit me on a shelf

you can’t put me in a vase


(i’m withering here)


blue roses don’t exist

blue roses can’t grow


I am a wildflower

I am a meadow

I am a wide open space


(you don’t know)







You wrote me in (a certain way)

I didn’t speak my dialogue (correctly)

Asked too many questions

Laughed in all the wrong places

Didn’t gaze up at you (as it was written)

I went off your manuscript

into a poem,

a painting,

a cloud

(and you couldn’t write me back)

The hero will always be hero (you hold the pen)


I’m standing on the balcony

I’m falling in the ocean

I’m setting with the sun


(not every story has a happy ending)

Wouldn’t Bet It All on Friday

shadow at beach

Wouldn’t bet it all on Friday

as Friday came and went

just another square on the calendar

just another face in the crowd

just another coin in the fountain

just another, just another

It goes on and on, the waves roll in

but the tide never really changes

just more broken shells left to find

walked this beach a thousand times

bet it all on Friday again

but nothing changed, what remains

inside these walls of sky again

Broken Glass and Bullet Holes


Inside these walls, fix them up,

build them up again, patch the holes

we’re leaking out everywhere,

seeping through the cracks, every piece of

us, of Us, running down the walls

flowing through the gutters, spilling

away from this place.  Here I hung

curtains of hope and invited the sun in,

but the sun has gone and the glass is

broken and so are we, so are we, and all

that was here is cracked from your words

turned inside out, this house we were,

and all our ghosts and angry walls

can’t contain broken glass and bullet holes.

We take it with us and move on.

I’ll go quietly

i;ll go quietly

a thousand miles

down the shore, I walked

before the gulls weary wings

and mine, we rested

by walking the sea’s remember

you once walked here, too

before broken shells

and words, winter’s bite

echoes of tidal times

moon phases, things

you can count on



one set of footprints in sand

even the waves know

erase it all

quickly, so we don’t

look back, so stark

these clouds who used

to gather down, they look

away now, just me

a one way trip

I’ll go quietly