with a tilt
it’s okay to spend your days watching clouds pass by imagining objects or faces concatenate from their shapes or sit like otis...
reso(nation)
when she reads (which she does well and often) it’s like a dream or vision reaching through from some other plane of...
just like november
your voice heavy with the fog of waking whispered the sweetest nothings. cool crisp mornings beneath an antique quilt waiting for coffee...
at a crossroads
the echoing notes of each string gently being strummed shakes the air between us both picking away the last remains of my...
into dust
with seven lines you moved me from night to someplace deeper than despair a bittersweet truth (perhaps) that what has passed (as...
blood and bone
she haunts my dreams, my waking hours with a presence more palpable than blood or bone for its singular absence — an...
a ghazal
rumi’s ghazal 441 so skillfully mixed with techno-pop beats weaves a haunting, divine and indescribably sweet spell which washes over me. visions...
a perfect paradox?
he wrote of a perfect paradox hinged on the sole fact of our shared existence (or experience as such) and how we...