I made dinner at 10:30 tonight.

Fried Kielbasa, macaroni and cheese, cinnamon applesauce, and 

buttermilk biscuits. It’s what I always eat when I’m missing home. 

I had everything finished and on the table, except for the biscuits.

I never remember to start them ahead of time.

So, I waited— watching them impatiently through the window in the oven door, 

and I could hear...

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One of a firepit, another a grotto

A low, dim mist leaks from between hills like the Milky Way erupted

From deep below

The earth was warm and its emerald undertone became glossy beneath the ice

And ochre paint of daffodils smears with browned frost

The home itself is but a disorganized cabin

With its heavy vines sewn throughout pine beams

And all the world is quiet but fo...

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Some of us appear to have forgot

that the train service has stopped

else why are we all stood here waiting like a bunch of goons?

Soon they’ll be pulling up the tracks

and when Mr Henry gets the sack

the grass will grow and the whole place will return unto the dunes.

Choo choo train where have you gone

now don’t you know we need you?

How in the world are you supposed to get...

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My dreams locked behind

A thousand doors,

My genuine voice,

Life without remorse.

Self-portrait that’s free

Of the wrinkled despair,

Rhetorical questions

Of how and where.

Whimsical, drunken

Scent of the hope,

A love letter

Burnt in the last envelope.

I stepped on this land

And time ceased to exist.

Since then I had wondered

Whose image it is.

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And I trip over old dreams 

again and again…

Five hundred times…

A thousand…

Endless shaky steps…

Where I loved you

like a million blue whales…

And I often long for the youth 

of those ageing thoughts…

Never ending pretty helium balloons 

reaching for the sun…

Knowing they will never arrive…

And what a beautiful, 

yet painful sight…

A sea of sorr...

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