I used to be a writer

Piano fingers, are lobster claws. A lazy cell evolves. in reverse. Paintbrushes collecting dust slump in tin cups brown strips of rust Camera lenses giving me the eye wondering why I won’t pick up the pen and paper. or at least try. what is a feeling. internal hallucination of a sensation None of it is…

Bloody oranges

Pierce the fruit, ripe and supple. Blood dripping down your chin fingers and skin. Peel perfume; Citrus zest. the orange wears red lips and whiskey breath. Good with lemon and lime, likes seltzer too. Orange cream-sickle too good to be true. Take a bite, she’s juicy. Grapefruit’s cousin You may not like her, but that’s…

Some life, huh?

laughing crying eating breathing sleeping reading drinking feeling dreaming driving swimming skydiving seeing trying winning losing biking hiking swiping typing smoking dancing loving hating financing writing working painting thinking moving. What the hell am I doing?              

I’m Sick

in the head in the body in the clothes. I’m sick. of the ice of the heat of the news. I’m sick. with anger with love with a cold. I’m sick. of wifi of talking of digging. I’m sick. D evastated N auseated A mputated from my cell phone hand and abusing it. Losing me…

I worry sometimes

about you about me about freedom. I worry sometimes. about distance about hours about flowers about voices. I worry sometimes. about blood about colors about clouds about water. I worry sometimes. about teeth about pens about birds about friends. I worry sometimes. about dust about lust about sharing about caring. Sometimes I worry Worry I…

Chisme

Abuelitas roosting on the block clucking, pecking sunflower seeds. kids on boards with wheels flying little dragons goons puffing weeds. Men in orange vests with bricks catcalling on mamas Honeys with the Henney, tailored suits and boots fuckin up some comma’s. But trees got some chisme too we just can’t quite hear it. And I…

What I Imagine love feels like when whispered into my ear

  You taste like milk and honey; Not just body, but the voice, The laugh, The simper. Sweet sounds of sunshine.. A caramel symphony, A Silk sheet of serenade. Every word a song…   Each breath we exchange, I want to fill my lungs with at capacity. It’s so clean… Not even freshly cut grass…