Writer | Director


It isn’t the door, it is the knock.

It is the time, not the clock.

Don’t let the winds choose where your ship will dock.

As one begun as though, and so,

The two and fro

And three and free,

And for something and against something,

Fists are five wrapped and trapped.

Let’s hear it for the never clapped.

Enjoy the silence when you’ve been slapped.

Some wonder why whatever what,

And whether its’s him and her,

Not her and him, her and her or Jim and Jim,

Them and they, the gems that may,

Make these days this modern haze,

Or will today be written off as just a phrase?

This phase is rarely just.

May maybe mighty when it turns into a must.

The shallows don’t breed the robust.

Forget the push and live the thrust.

If you’re gonna be jealous

Be jealous that,

The journals want to be inked fat.

As only the calendar ever owned the days.

The past is for parting. Parting ways.


Social auction.

Bidding all, as she’s the lot,

Fingers brush through clouds aloft.

To turn together toward the distant dot.

Old Record players,

Place lacquered layers.

Through upturned elbows,


As palms and shoulders close.



Blow on


Understanding frames

Of moving heartbeats,

That others hear,

Yet we can see.

Now you’re near,

Shall I set you free?

Is it just fear?

Is it just me?

Is it even my decision?

Is this mess?

Or precision?


Stroking looks,

Softly sear,

At the clasp,

Beneath her wing.

Her cashmere whispers,

In my ear.

A faded necklace

Released it sings

A freedom cry,

For tingling skin,


Worry about you,




Go without,

Go within.

Whichever swords you believe in,

They’ll slice open something cruel.


So don’t fix your hair let’s fix our aim,




At each other.

As this life has no brother.


Noon drops cotton to the floor,

Gravel fights beneath our feet.

We briefly part,

This one last time


We do.

Into each other’s rhyme.


We do.

You see me as I see you.

Feeling lethal metal,

Flowers blossom beyond mere petals.

Pulling our triggers,


Releasing flapping sniggers,


Between the 40 paces,

Smiling goodbye to our faces.

You’re my only fuel now,

Goodbye to lonely vestibules, wow.

Not others,


That dolly,

Oh golly

Half volley


A lover to uncover the folly

Of my molecules.

The ridicule,

From that bar stool.

The ridicule,

From that far call.

Saying sayonara to the singeing sap of rooted fears,

Flying samsara in the singing slap of tabasco tears.

Dying slowly together

Living briefly forever,


The most blessed of duels.