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.

Goodnight Starlight

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Pexels.com


among the ruins

covered in decay

sometimes I see starlight

waltzing  among the graves.

It doesn’t dance to music

it’s doesn’t hum a tune

starlight are only ghosts

the remains of a dying Sun

I Did Not See That One Coming

Inspired By The Danse Macabre Prompt: Just Seven More Minutes

Melt a Smartie

Make French Toast Sticks

Fly a Tiger Jet helicopter after it’s been charged

It takes  seven minutes at the speed of light to reach the surface of the Sun

If I could spend seven minutes with someone I loved and lost

I’d probably want to do one of these things

with those seven precious minutes


Eternity is a long road with no rest stops

Death is a brutal cheat

and memories that make you smile

make you smile forever.


The Imp’s Dream

The Writing Tram: Poetry in Your Pocket


Smells like chalk

in an abandoned school house

where the air hasn’t been alive for a long time



Tastes like spoiled milk

hours after you swallowed it

now all you can smell is decay.



Sounds like a knock

coming from inside of your closet

when you are all alone in the house

and there is a  lightning storm raging outside



feels like

being soaked to the skin

and the rain won’t stop coming down


feels like

missing the last bus late at night

and not a soul is with you on that dark and lonely corner


feels like

waiting to hear your name

in a place

where nobody should know it.



Beware the Dancing Woman

In a candle lit room in a house not to

far away from where we are now,

The Old Woman told her

she could read her future, see her past

in her cards.


She told the Old Woman

“I know your future  I can see

it clearly without cards,

if  you  even dare

to try to snoop at mine “


The Old Woman did dare and when she was done

her now faceless cards fluttered back to the table one by one

like falling leaves in a  nightmare forest

surrounded by darkness and laughing river and a woman dressed in white dancing along it’s banks.


She gathered her cards

she put them in her purse

she blew out the candles

and she left

the room empty


it was

as if

no one had ever been there at all.


Bancroft Manor: Creative First Aid