For the most part, the notebooks filled with decade old scribbles, collecting dust in the closet of my childhood bedroom, are illegible. What can be deciphered of my highschool years are angst fueled rambles, longings for places I had never been and listless poems for women who may or may not have existed.
Read MoreThe young woman in a black dress
with a skeleton on its front
is vibrant and oblivious
like a child playing with a skull,
dropping marbles in the sockets
I woke up this morning
with the sight and scent
of bouquets of red roses
assembled on my chest.
when someone
asks how I am
my mind goes
blank.
your face is sticking to my brain
like a wet t-shirt hung up in the
bathroom after we jumped in the
deep end….
vocals rise night static the beach house we
sway to midi music call ourselves karaoke
Tonight I pray to the memory of Li Po
To Rumi to Bukowski to Sandburg
And the living uncaring soul of Bob Dylan…
