Green eyes
Darkly rimmed, mixed with molten amber gold...

The muses have abandoned me to a dark mind void of...
My heart beats loudly against the frail and bitter...

The line where land meets the
horizon is loveliest at night...

They do not change like the seasons.
My mother is the height of summer...

I would give you a chance
Even when I know it ends in fire...

I have no ability to shake or ignore this feeling...
It eases into my veins, paranoia bubbling under my...

Today marks six months after your passing.
On this blistering cold May Mother’s Day...

I went into the bookstore today.
You know the one...

I am not a poet.
No linguist, nor painter of the written word...

This city looks different in the cover of night
No longer crowded with shoving strangers...

Colorblind.
It is how I have lived my day to day...

I tend to the battered outline of my heart,
Meticulously shaping it to an acceptable form...