Category: writing

  • outsider

    i am the outsider drifting
    slipstream shifting
    through & through
    a directionless beggar
    desert rags wrapped
    red around wrists &
    broken at my mouth
    open fractured to speak
    i croak & rasping
    thirsty for the dawn

  • games

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash
    always unknowing & unreadable
    her eyes play from the shadows
    teasing & taunting

    forgive me, i am so tired
    of these games

  • Towards the Within — Næturblóm

    © Sebastian Iskra, listed as “free to use”.

    I’ll admit that I haven’t been listening to music so much as playing it since I picked up my bass guitar, so I’m going to fall back on a band used to help seed my original exploration, Kælan Mikla, a three-piece band from Reykjavík, Iceland.

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  • red dirt

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    sitting the red dirt
    casting needle bone raw
    hey fox, ho owl 
    what tales do winds tell?

    given to ghost on promise
    tied leather, wrapped lace 
    turning on bright flame
    if the memory serves you
    well 

    sitting the red dirt
    between pine and swell 
    hey owl, ho fox with
    promises winds tell

  • unexpected outcomes

    standing stones
    Photo by Suzanne Rushton on Unsplash
    mad hare, what drove you
    to dodge the night fallen snow
    from here to there and back again
    all dizzy in your frenzy?

    it seems you lost your head
    the large crow said, as he
    cleaned up the mess of you
    left out in the yard behind