Plug In & Rebuild
On the first road trip since my injury a friend took the wheel. Somewhere between mile markers, we talked about the noise we live in today. This poem grew out of that conversation.
Color and Light
Last night at a bar in Raton, I had dinner and found myself caught off guard by a bartender whose beauty was the honest type. The kind that leaves a lasting mark.
Color and Light
Reflection
I met a young dancer whose potential was shattered in a moment. The injury cut her rhythm to ribbons, but not her will. Now she’s fighting her way back, slow and stubborn, chasing the movement her body once gave so freely.
Traditions
I met a couple on the train to Albuquerque.
He was mercurial; she had a bruise just beneath her eye. I kept thinking of stories about old women on their deathbeds, confessing to having killed their husbands, simply because there’d been no other way.
Kindred
In Los Angeles, I met a few kind souls, one who reminded me of someone long gone. An old friend who left too early. They keep surfacing in my thoughts. The more I turn that feeling over, the more the word ‘friend’ comes, and slips free of its meanings… just sound, just ache. This is for the friends who remain, and the ones I still meet in memory.
Her Butterfly Shadow
There’s a new regular at the coffee shop. She carries silence like a fragile glass. But the notebooks she brings blaze with color, pages that seem to laugh out loud.
On a quiet morning.
One quiet morning, a woman walked into the coffee shop with her son. In that instant, she carried the weight and power of strength itself.
The Punk Rock Philosopher
I’ve had a few brief exchanges with a barista at the coffee shop. Brilliant mind, sharp wit. She’s shared some of her struggles. Enough to glimpse the weight she carries.