Over Exposure

I wade in my own syrupy pool of misery and magic. Internal crises externally exposed, a wolf howling a painful, charged moan. The full moon charges her and there she goes – off the edge of the world and yet, somehow she floats. Careful not to let her drag you in, deep and drowning away you’ll go…

Soul seeking, pulsing and seething – where the desire stems, you’ll likely never know. Raw and uncut, most will claim a selfish intent. However, as her wild heart unravels they will relent. Exposed and flailing, a sight to be seen. How they’ll all talk as if they were so keen.

Dancing and swaying, free as can be. Your eyes may watch, but the film between our lenses diminishes the scene. Distorted beneath my own moonlight, I’ll twirl away the sight. Unburdened, unbridled and wild as can be. Honey, you better run while you can, before I sink in my teeth.



It’s all been a kind of joke, really.

Sub par, sub edits, highlights and key notes,


Half in or half out –

A sail that shifts with every toke,


So dissociative, I’ve nearly forgotten words we spoke,


Nothing noteworthy to waste any more time,

Even writing this poem became hollow in every line.

Times a Wastin’

Up and left, back to my lonely road

To be found around corner, I had no way to know

Gone and went my own way,

Landed in a place I may even want to stay.

Curious as ever, narnia comes preachin,

Walk through my door and I’ll show you something unseen – so good it’s nearly treason.

Stumbled on through right into a heathen,

A honey pot overflowing, he continues to sweeten.

Tender little thing, my heart she starts singin’

Right and wrong in all the best ways- vibration buzzing and ringin

Where it leads, your guess as good as mine

Meanwhile, you can find me here –

Wasting away all my precious time

Moments of Perfection

Moments of perfection, disrupted so easily by something just a tiny bit less than.

I don’t know how to say it, so I sit here and forget.

The wheels keep turning, my cheeks shiny and wet.

I start with an inhale, but reel it in before I say something I’ll regret.

Moments of perfection, blurred like the haze of wine.

It seems no matter where I grab hold, I can’t control the hands of time.

Moments of perfection, bleeding like a leaky pen.

How my heart will wrench, when I remember how things were back then.

Moments of perfection, slow as you may be, you dissipate before I can truly see.

Moments of perfection, I’ll never see you until you’ve already left me.

Notions of Originality

It shouldn’t surprise me that I find relief when Christina, my travel companion, begins to lose steam. After our train to Madrid, I can tell she is starting to putter out. Nearly ten days of constant movement and three countries later, the cataclysm drives most people mad. For me however, there is nothing that sets me more free.

She decides to retire after our visit to Museo Reina Sofía which holds everything from Dalí to Picasso to modern artists. Almost in its entirety the displays were burdensome. The Art was violent, aggressive, a challenge to society with a harsh approach. I meandered my way through the four floors in silence, losing myself in painted gaping mouths, soulless eyes, distorted proportions and blends of surrealism. If you lose yourself in the art, the frame of mind is dark and trying. I’ve traveled those roads many times…in a strange way they feel homey. The melancholy encourages my inner recluse.

I rest my feet at the hostel for about a half hour before leaving Christina to rest and rejoining the intensity of the city. It is even more beautiful in the evening. My inner night crawler feeding hungrily on the city lights, awakened from the tone of the museum. I head towards the city centre in search of a particular bar. Central has been in Madrid since the 40’s and boasts an unparalleled jazz scene. I lose my way around two separate city blocks, but enjoy the extra time wandering the streets. The air is warm and the people are as lively as anything I’ve ever seen.

I stumble upon it quarter to 11:00. It sits nearly in the heart of Plaza de Angel. I squeeze my way through the doors between a large party and am granted the last seat in the house. I am reminded of the simplicity of wandering in solitude. Rarely are you turned away or questioned when unaccompanied. Suddenly, all is accessible and there is always room for one more.

I order a glass of red wine and get lost in the music. The lighting is warm. Golds deep enough to feel their heat, reds in hues spanning from brick to burgundy. There is a saxophone player, a bassist, a pianist and a drummer. Occasionally, they invite a boisterous female vocalist to join. The whole scene is dripping in decadence and style. I sit and drink and lose track of time. Lost in myself, in the music, in the experience. My mind is dancing to follow the untraceable changes as the group plays effortlessly. I’ve come to satisfy my selfish need for density in expression, I’ve found it here.

Take a right at the Head-dressed Female

I slide on my headphones, laying in bed in our flat above the dog park near the city centre in Malaga, Spain. By our second evening, I am able to navigate back home by the graffiti which marks each turn from the denser metropolitan area. The city coming to life on a Friday evening, vibrant with hipster youth smoking cigarettes. They have a certain confidence about them, perhaps slightly arrogant. Asserting their swanky demeanor as if nothing suits them more appropriately, but with a nonchalance that diminishes criticism.

Our energy contradicted the pulsating environment around us. After a lax day of lounging in Playa de Malagueta and an early evening at El Hammam, the Iranian spa, sweating in the steam rooms sprawled against the warm marble benches our vibration is closer to a serene lake than the gushing river which surrounded us. We had a light meal off a side road and sat out front people watching while we listened to the rap music blaring from the restaurant. It was our first slow pace day in over a week, time stretching strangely to accommodate the minds struggle to interpret the overstimulation. A shower to rinse off and reset has left us as balloons with no air. Clocked out.

From the buses around Santorini to see every coveted cove, the ferry to Athens in the rain, miles of walking day in and at out, long train journeys through the countryside for surreal landscapes which seem to manifest out of solitary mountainous regions – we were well overdue for a recharge. Tomorrow we head to Madrid, where the population is denser and the madness clicks up a notch. We both savor our opportunity for solitude while it is available.

Around the bend, everything continues to flex and bend into my proprioception. My inner creative strives for the romantic, rosy lenses which lend exasperated beauty to each experience. Instead, I find a raw honesty and presence. I am here, exactly as I am anywhere. The experience is it’s own truth and I’m here to absorb the energy it protrudes.

Lost at Sea

An ocean, cacophony of blues.

Stormy seas or clear skies, what lies beneath the surface contained only within you.

A welcome partner, detached by only a degree or two.

The sun burns hot, reflected to itself by your mirror,

Only to return to face its own truth.

A delicate dance they play, testing the vastness of each other’s hues.

Too close and the the sun melts, drowned in your milky blue.

Reds, oranges, yellows- engulfed.

Suddenly lost amongst your navy and teals.

Better to admire from the sky, the medium of connection between the two.

Wonder of your depths, the mystery of your world beneath.

An almighty sun, mesmerized by only your cosmetic sheath.


When you’ve reached the point of contention,

Her pursuit becomes relentless.

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,

She’ll catch you in her talons,

The air thick, your forehead sweating from the tension.

Feeble and fumbling your words crumble and crack

She’ll cackle manically, her neck snapping back.

Fire she breathes, through her teeth it seeps.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing,

Suddenly she does not seem quite so sweet.

A point that pricks, contention leaving everyone breathless, weak.


Perturbed by the potential of something magnificent. The unduly unfolding challenging reality as it is presently comprehended – layers as fragile and flaky as the seemingly endless epidermis. Peel, pluck, plunder to make room for resurfacing. To renew, rejuvenate – REDISCOVER.

Stagnant. A cest pool for staleness, greedy for grit, bubbling with bacteria. Festering for development, rebirthing ravenously. Stillness baiting for the opposite.

Opposites dragging, digging, diving either direction. Balance, coy and calm, patiently awaiting a slack in the tension. There she remains in the middle.

Energy abundantly absent in resolution. The human ailment relentless and hungry for some kind of charge. Friction at its finest – I suppose I truly do not mind it.


My mistress, Summer

Summertime is ending baby

And I’m losing my mind.

The light keeps on dwindling, I’m trying to buy more time.

The heat has had me sweating,

But to me that is just fine.

Salty, sticky and sweaty as can be –

A suitable treat for my hearts greed.

Not quite ready to let her go,

That sweet summer vibe-

So yummy, so slow.

Let me keep melting with sun-

Leave me behind to revel in the fun.

Let my soul keep singing in her enchanting light,

Promise everything will be alright- alright?

Come back to me three seasons from now,

I’ll be right where you left me-

Surely beaming and wearing a smile.

I’ll chase the sun, my Summer mistress-

Without her just wont do,

I’m afraid when she leaves me,

There will be nothing left of me to give to you.