Monday, December 14, 2009


we were just outside of flagstaff, when the drugs began to take hold. there's nothing more adventuresome than a heart that beats past its capability; than to wonder if the coming moments would hold wild halucinations and raw perspective or an absence of pulse. these were the scary days worth living. and devon, laying helplessly against the tattered cadillac interior, ached solely for a girl that would stir in him utter confusion. the desert wind donated its sweet sediment to our hair, our eyes captive to the neons until we hit asphalt. the sidewalks crawled with drunkards, with sterile smiles and greasy flashbulbs. "who brought us to this human circus?" devon cried out from beneath his crouched cap. he lit up a red whos smoke kept company with acid-induced rambles and uncited quotes, all the while i held tight to my wheel and what faith i had salvaged. the tires were tired, they drug us sluggishly further into sin, the city of. The glitzyhotels and showgirl silhouettes caught every one of my glances; my head slung heavily downwards then shook itself steady as chemicals swam through the vital crimson liquid that my heart kept in rythmic circulation. our aged swagger took us not so steadily into the city, where a fever lay on our skin, inviting its own way. i heard levers pulled and pulled again, keeping pace with anxious hearts while risks were taken and dignity was lost. devon was not far behind, the lights beaming off his cheek, his eyes in unruly wonderment. his manic sway led him through a sea of empty faces; his britches low and eyes keen. devon suffocated in a world of static while longing for a pretty pocket book.



dallas was about as pretty as a cocaine smile; fake, induced, expensively enhanced. there were a few cool cats walking around but their scent was nearly extinguished by the smouldering presence of the young dead. sometimes it would sink into my skin; i longed to see solar nails and tan arms when i reached for a drink i didn't have to buy. that's why God doesn't ever want us to compare ourselves to others; insecurity is a sneaky poison that nibbles at the flesh until it is able to reside beneath it, churning it's toxin into the blood until the soul is tortured into feeling feel dull and common.



You hold me with scarred hands
and a strength I've never known
You've always had a plan
despite the rotten seeds I've sewn
the temple that I've tortured and painted
was caught with gentle strength as I fainted
lost my grip on the empty promise of this world
found a love with which i've never been acquainted

hold the heart you made Lord
and cleanse me once again
taking shelter in your grace Lord
I will let my life begin

In You I am strengthened
in adam I am lost
in flesh I am weak
but You paid the cost
my sin now forgiven
my burden relieved
I walk now in the truth
when I once was deceived


Wednesday, November 18, 2009

the end of the road

The end of the road is not a pleasant place for those who crave challenge. To never be more certain of how you've felt and end up totally wrong can be discouraging. The one beautiful outcome of this failed endeavour regarding love was learning that I had the capacity to feel it.

P.S. he felt like home

Monday, August 24, 2009

all is fair

All is fair
in love and war,
that's what I've heard them say

Without a care

she left the shore,

for hands she trusted and


A tiny snare

and now you're torn,

you really needn't stay for


*broken ardent*

p.s. where's my life jacket again?

Friday, August 21, 2009


a citrus slice bouyant in our brew;
our words loose,
our glances few.

yet here we are again you know;
i missed you so,
my gentle foe.

i wonder where we'll find our end
if once again
we break to bend.


p.s. honesty is like exhaling

Friday, August 14, 2009


Quick intro. ...

An old friend set up this acct for me to let people see my work, which has never earned a label other than "dark" or "interesting". The words my mind couple lay behind quiet lips; they stumble onto bar napkins and deny edit. To their refuge I've maintained a certain attachment; a fascination with their conditional intent, their sting, their quiet command in unbridled assembly. The only requirement I have of myself regarding this blogging endeavor is the absolute avoidance of, at all costs, the delete button.

Until next time folks,


P.S. (post scriptum) is the dessert. There's always room for sweet afterthoughts