• From Famine to Feast

    Like a fine mist dissolving on fingertips,

    this moment slips. 

    Black crow drops his feast. 

    The irony, not lost on me. 

    At the pinnacle of sweetness-one fleeting moment,

    barely shifting, then being thrown into the next image-

    Staring down a 100 foot oncoming wave when the eyes don’t blink. 

    Flippin’ words, 

    trippin’ on what I heard, polar opposites within one herd. 

    Grew up on the blues,

    It’s how I learned about the ache. 

    Gave one last look at those times and said my goodbyes. 

    Now I take those darker hues and wrangle them into something more refined.

    I make a lighter shade of blue. 

    I’m not revolving in a circle anymore. 

    I open new places and knock down doors. 

    The Swimmer

    The Swimmer View Post

    The Stories They Tell

    The Stories They Tell View Post

    “The Enduring”

    “The Enduring” View Post

    The Right Places

    The Right Places View Post