When Roots Turn Into Roads


We had dreams

tucked neatly in

our back-pockets,

and we set off

toward the neon lights

and sky beasts.

The stars were our shields

and our whispers cut like

a steel sort of sword.

There is passion on the

tips of our tongues

and loud heartbeats

deep in our throats.

I see a tree

that splits its trunk,

and it spills out

coarse gravel and macadam.

Each gnarled, knotty branch

curves and beckons me

to take a different path.

The roots expand

and push through placid


Our walk continues,

with footsteps crunching

the leaves of a home

I’ve been wanting to forget.

But the cobblestones

become cab lights,

and the swing sets become

shiny street signs,

and I understand

the romance of

creative minds

will require only train fares

and intertwined




Flecks of dandelion yellow,

In a crystalline dew drop,

The reflection of a light that’s low,

Shows a green that makes my thoughts stop.

Honey hair grazes freckled skin,

Creating a canopy,

Surrounding two pools to dive in,

And moonlight that wants to take me.

I caress his unmarked shore,

Focusing on fluttering water,

Restless of knowing I’ll need more,

Of these colors that bring me farther.

On land, the passion in his face,

Is something I cannot erase.


In His Sleep


She listens to

the low hum

of a hotel fan,

with her head

balanced between

the soft platform

of his chest

and the space

under his arm.

They are together but

she sneaks out of bed

to look at the

cracks of evening

glow and his resting eyes.

She tries not to disturb

his obvious and

comfortable sleep, and

as if he heard her thoughts

he stirs,

“What are you doing?”

he asks her with

remains of dreams in

his garden green eyes.

She answers with a simplistic

smile and crawls back to

the spot she shared with him,

stroking his tired skin and

thinking about how

there is even romance in

the questions he asks her.



She was a professional protagonist

Placed into uncomfortable settings

In tree-topped forests and

Sun-dried seas, vacant hills and

Unexplored bedrooms

It seemed almost possible

Fitting into these odd scenes

But as her story continued and

Each chapter she danced to something

New and uninviting

She still searched for a page

To blend into

And maybe by the end of her novel

She could have a less fictitious view

On the literary life she leads


unfocused 8

Hearing you say that

Forbidden word,

That was meant for

Years later,

Is something I cannot ignore.

And I know you think

That my ears were clouded

By misfortune and

An evening fight,

But I heard it.

And recalling that

It had escaped your lips,

Is enough to make me

Swim seas and

Scale city buildings,

To tell you

That it is all

I ever wanted to


Ghoulish Love


He was a distant ghost.

Existing, but never

Really there.

Pale and delusional

To the life of a woman

Who attracts

soft-spoken men.

And then there is her

Beaming face of

Naïve expectations,

Thinking he will be

Less transparent.

But how can a ghost be

Anything less than


He promised her

Forever until death.

Even death seemed like

An unfulfilled message.

Empty offerings and

Wishful thinking was what

He gave her.

So she buried every

Sweet suffering

And tantalizing thought.

Focusing on charismatic


Knowing it’s unrealistic

to spend eternity with a spirit.