a dime.

my heavy eyes
rest peacefully on the
air between
and so does the frail
trails of curls.

the twisted tongue
has it sorted out tonight
with a little help from my friends.
there’s only one tune
that would swoon
the dusk into dark.

it won’t be long
before these trained fingers
go to work
yet again, keeping the
soul sane and letting my eyes
smell the Californian rain.

and it’s same every night.

but wait, a slight change is
in the order of our light
tonight.

i just found a dime
in my pocket.

wild.

hey sunshine

dare to look me right
in the eyes
pay your dues

and
let your feet run wild.

How to write

you ask
how I write poetry.

those words that
rhyme together in an
unusual way that
stays, with you
and the ones getting
wet in their rain.

there’s no secret, darling.

these words
and their poetry that
you claim to see
is not even real.

the only poetry
I believe
I ever saw was in
your wild hair, hypnotizing
its audience in the
wild wind ampitheatre
and in your
eyes, when you look
at me, and

smile.

directions

you
don’t need to
lay down
a map

and show me
with your
manicured finger
who
you are.

i can tell
from your

eyes.

Stop talking

stop talking.

just show
me your
eyes

and
let me
read.

Starboy

I’m a growing
Icelandic shark
all grown-assed, I can
admit now
I have multiple heads

one that smells of
merlot and noir
another full of cold-
blooded diamonds
& often times under the moonlight
it seems, as if the eyeballs
have been sharpied
inside the sockets

I’m still learning how
to hold a hand and
walk through
or drink the leftover
blood from the skull
of others

my hands don’t warm
me and I like slipping
out of myself
often, leaving no hands
to take the lead &
puppet me

my dreams feel like
being sucked into
the sky & I lift, but
it is so quiet.
shhh…
I can hardly breathe

please, hold my hand.
it is such a pleasure
to be not dead and
walking through
this place, with you.

Sweater weather

the bluebonnets tells me
this is when i win
your smile can
make me fly.

sadly it’s nothing new
i’ve in past seen these views
it’s possible, you’ve just
got me high.

and your eyes
say more than our
names spelled together,
your breath’s warmer
than our bedroom sport we play
in sweater weather.

i love the way
you sing your song at night
your music and
your voice
are kisses from inside

I guess that’s what
I need, and
that’s what you
hide.

Speck of dirt

who are we?
but a speck of dirt
in this universe.

believe me when
i tell you this.

breathing in the secrets
of galaxies and daydreams,
your eyes
resemble the constellations
lighting up the space.

but tonight,
you look a little
more beautiful than ever.

i don’t know
why.

aren’t we all
but a speck of dirt
in this universe?

Life’s a pitch

I met
this old woman
one time
at a bus stop.

“do you got money to
get me home?”
she asked.

I checked. no cash.
I shrugged.

her heavy eyes looked at me
full of cynical sly and
a broken smile,
and said,

“life’s a pitch.”

she couldn’t pronounce her ‘b’s.

Star dust

at the
end of the day

we are all just
star dust
reflecting star light
from our eyes

that slowly
escapes
from our cracks

and
shines through.