Monday, February 18, 2013

a poem about war

Thrusting my hand into the barrel
I scrapped it off with my teeth
began chewing on gun powder
grit of regret rubs my gums raw

rows in a garden grow like soldiers
planting my feet with flowers
trying not to be strangled by weeds.

Broken glass turns to sand
castles protected by a trench
full of watered down blood.


Thursday, February 14, 2013



The dead of night glittered
with possibility, but I
questioned your existence.
Bumps rippled over nearly
naked bodies breaking
the liquid crystalisation.
Your deep shadows engulfed
my fragile frame. Water
droplets danced
on your eyelashes;
I disappeared
into darkness.