She Who Tore

Trains of Thought Journal Exercise: Deeply Listen to an Upaguru

 During the  wind storms

that make the trees dance and the oceans and rivers roar

in the cemeteries I’ve worked in

when lightening rips the sky apart

 machete in hand

she who tore

looks over me and walks with me

on my uncertain, dark and  adventurous path.



Cerberus Unchained

I could only hold back for so long

go slow for so long

stroll through these ruined streets

for so long

ignore the calander

for so long

circle the drain for so long

until I cracked the whip

and let my beasts run free

snarling, growling, snapping at the shadows that race by

” Out of the way!” they spat

to the

uncaring   cries of

” Come back

slow down

where are you taking the sweet, slow and patient woman we called friend?”


Far away, look straight ahead

leave the corpses of my yesterdays behind

in unmarked graves with plastic flowers and moldering teddy bears

Will anyone visit them?




But that someone won’t be me.


Trains of The Journal Project- The Chariot

If I Could Fly Away


Trains of Thought

The Great Escape- Intensive Journal Writing

If I could fly away right now, what would I be leaving behind?

Chuncks of concrete

rusted metal

gunhumpers, silly boys who don’t wear socks, women who pull their hair back into greasy ponytails, drunken whores and delusional lovers


crashing down on streets named after trees that don’t grow here anymore.

Home is where Netflix lives.


Murica, Feel The Bern, I don’t see color I see the person

I am fair and honest and true.

Is my phone charged? Does it need to be fed?

Home is where Instagram says it is.


Chunks of concrete, rusted metal

crashed to Earth

with a thud

held together by

a sticky web of  silly boys who don’t wear socks,  girls with greasy hair tied back into a ponytails, the drunken whores the  deluded lovers,

the Berners, the Humpers, the starving phones

blended and forced into  embraces by each other

they are

poisoned rain falling from a flat and listless sky

feeding the corpse of a dead world.

Without A Map

Trains of Thought

The Great Escape – Intensive Journal Writing

I keep losing my way,

it runs off without me

and I can’t keep up


my way


angry, vicious, blind in one eye

but somehow it manages to

shake me, lose me, elude me

when I need it the most.

My way is lost but it doesn’t care

I do.

I’m sorry I have lost my way.