cicadas are chirping,
lighting bugs fly.
Owls are watching,
yet nobody sees.

They say it is silent, night.
Edison, boy you made it so bright.
The whole darn city
Is buzzing, like bees, who are missing.

I flip with a switch,
It’s a thing they say now,
“let’s get lit.”



Glitter is synonymous to sunshine,
Or gold, rich, excess, punitive rintherout.

Disingenuous worlds and paradise,
can nearly have the same infancy – mocking
that which makes everything grow.

Sunshine, is what we create,
Out of darkness, we must make.

Thou shalt not kill,
But rather, cultivate, something beautiful,
Powerful, and always growing.

Stars are only reflections,
of black holes.

Exemplum virtutis.

to be treated like a lady, act like one.

especially if you prefer a gentleman.

blossom, as a tulip, or orchid.

silence, softness, beauty, precision –

these, are what hold power,

oh you delicate flower.. It is time

to grow.




I can grow so empty that I become full,
And am so lost, but know right where to go.

I will run fast, but while walkin slow,
And everyday; a solemn road.

This year spring will come, flowers, beauty, sun.
In cold, birds do fly, chase sun and sky.

South I wish yet West I am.
Always travelin’ land.
To find love and home,
My heartbeat always knows.ello-optimized-3106aa5a

Dear city,

your sidewalk benches.
where the weary
rest feet.
oh the streets when we’re


(she’s so HEAVY) (dont be weak)

and woman, woe man, we
beaten down. beatin it. beat up. beatin round bushes.

we are burning.
(we got fire) (let it shine) (spark)

~this light of mine, it ain’t little~

division, this fraction, fences/wall/isms. decisions.

the galaxy’s interior.
is a boundary.

for one dollar,

street soldiers, speak.ello-optimized-0c3cf967

Discharge, ignite, blast,

Combusting reactions subside.

The story is same as the past,

Our seeds grow, live, and die.

I’ve always burned bridges in war,

Grounded but heart in the sky.

The story is same as before,

I love you but now we are wise.

Crumble at once as we fall,

Our ruins have become great walls.

It is time to rebuild with the moon,

We naturally sing to her tune.

And in the valleys out west,

We shall feast, find peace, and rest.


To write. To suffer. To relieve. To focus. To complete. To care.

James Baldwin: “Something that irritates you and won’t let you go. That’s the anguish of it. Do this book, or die. You have to go through that. Talent is insignificant. I know a lot of talented ruins. Beyond talent lie all the usual words: discipline, love, luck, but most of all, endurance.”

This month, for the first time in over 10 years, I finished a complete song. Three verses, a bridge, and chorus. It was easy. But it’d been so hard for the last decade.

For many reasons, composing was anguish.

Rather that creating beginnings, I created ends,

Finishing stories before they’d even had the chance to begin.

And so, light would become dark, every word to the page.

30 years endured, persevered, survived.

To write, to grow, to share, to be, to live.