Grown up

Maturity is where dreams go to die. To have grown up is to be mature And passage is contingent like security at an airport: Water is to be consumed or discarded But you can’t take it with you.   That the American Dream is dead is true, Because all dreams are Because they were never … More Grown up


I love cars; not for speed or style But that they go anywhere Between white or yellow lines, And they need only a spark.   The engine thrums then roars, in order Like two movements of a symphony That resounds and then is camouflaged With a calmness lingering over the dashboard   In the inertia … More drīfan

A love poem IV

  Through the pale darkness that welds over the dusty blue of summer, Like a buoy, grounded in nought but its gravity of being, Her love calls like a foghorn scything through opacity. The strange image is not lost on me; Perhaps a lighthouse conveys the solitary beauty in the sea of despair, Or a candle … More A love poem IV

A love poem III

It’s how she walks – elbows tucked, arms out Ever so slightly, lacking the obviousness that would be odd, Her legs sweep over the ground, barely touching, In gentle caress, as though they were her fingers upon my cheek.   It’s how she blinks – the small of her eyelids Tugging at the bulge to bow … More A love poem III