"You must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, 'Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.' Don't be resigned to that."


in a place of darkness did we stand

walking in brush and leaves and wet ground

lit our undergarments for torch in hand

walked together

watched the rocks

and the faces spark

in their language we went well

we all deserve one love poem

the skies i love

the trees i love

the eyes of the inspired

i love

the sound of the voices

before they fall asleep

and the sincerity written on faces

when reading the poetry of men

and i love you all the same.

if love was the light of day

my skies were golden.

i love the music

and although music is not

a person i can look at

and talk to

and listen to and watch

i am very happy 

that i get to love you

and all the same my skies were golden

the skies i love


the pull of a human switch

the poised susceptibility of body fluid, of excrement

of widening eyes, of unsure noises

the need to make noise

constant noise of all the world

from a mountain, from a pure sign of divinity in the sky of all melancholy

and the sky is an abyss that speaks of nothing


such is this life of matter

walking so that we may simply stand