I woke up this morning and

said “thank you”

for the smell of her body

the delicate sigh of her breath

the soft curve of her back

the warmth of her skin…

her mind a forest fire that

no boy has ever been able to contain.

and so the morning,

evaporating into


where there are no more words

to say all the things I’ve already said

when she asks me to say

good things about her:

but I’ve already stated my case;

she just won’t listen.

I look at my face in the mirror-

this man, a stranger

who seems too far away…

the distance a war I’ll never win—

her hand in mine

a battle

I fear I’m losing.

Repine (for Molly)

in a few hours

the birds will be singing their song—

your song—

floating on the wind with

a little less vigor than before.

the love you gave,

the love you made

imprinted on hearts, on this world

on people you knew and

people you’d never met

flowing out of that song

that laughter your friends will hear in

quiet corners of their mind when they remember

all you are.

we’re not wired for this.

grief, loss


all the things that run counter to

the very fabric of you

juxtaposed against the way your love

ameliorated the world around you;

the way your voice would







the way music heals all

but somehow not where we need

the healing the most.

Rest, love.

sink into your peace knowing that this morning—

every morning…

the birds will carry this legacy on.


this evolution-

the path of least resistance

to a future we can at least stomach

never quite quenches the thirst we’re feeling

from that dry parched throat full of loss…

we’re never ready;

it always comes way too soon.

we wonder about the arguments

still resonating in our heads

never considering that it’s more about

the fights we never had,

the words we never said,

those catchphrases never spoken and

never reminisced about tomorrow.

it’s always that twinge of sepia our minds fabricate so well

lulling us into believing this was more than it ever could be

lying to us about how broken we all are

convincing us we’re losing the farm

when we never knew the first thing about harvesting this crop.

kicking back, nursing this drink while

watching the dinosaurs die out

drowning in the melancholy of the loss of the moment

instead of taking advantage of new plans and better opportunities

in a fresh new world, on this brand new canvas


the darkness had been falling

just a little too long

I don’t think anyone really believed

she’d ever find her way back


that’s where I found her:

standing around

a little lost

a little scared

looking a lot like Gretel

after the bread crumbs had ran out


the hunger…the fight

it was still there

just under the surface,

if anyone cared to look hard enough;

it seemed as if she’d lost the

willingness to try

but when I brushed the hair back out of her eyes

it was still there:

that fragile hope that

Love might win.


maybe we all get a little lost

looking for answers to

the wrong questions we keep asking ourselves

clawing our way back out of the well

and trying to find our way back home,

when all along we never knew

just what home could really be.


She’s got me in the clip, 

But always someone else 

in the chamber… 

And though I know I’ll wait here 

Pent up, alone 

Never even getting the chance to 

Expend the energy to 

Explode into her environment the way 

He did or 

He does or 

He will… 

I sit here patiently,

The last kid in gym class :

Pick me…

Pick me. 


bobbing up and down
on a sea of uncertainty:


in so many ways I
never knew before…

held up.
held close to my heart
held close to my hands
by you,
with the calming expectation
promises you made
but give no indication
you plan
to keep.

lost and alone
I seek solace in
an early exit-
a controlled departure-
knowing you
will always wonder what
I was running from
even though
deep down…
all along…
we both knew:

it was you.

all alone in a motel room in fucking Roseville, CA

and I’m feeling it, again…

switching channels


switching thoughts and

falling perilously close to

jagged memories that just

scar me

over and




I’m wondering what tonight

might be like

in another script altogether

another scene where

there are new lines and

a different girl

and someone who knows

what the fuck they are doing

blocking my movement,

mapping it out on stage…

stand here,

cross there…

so I know when to move from a to b


don’t have to spend the next 8 months

second guessing why I’m

sleeping in the

wrong bed.


Ad libbing seems

almost cool

when I see

a pro doing it-

when it’s done well-

but when I’m in the midst of

blowing up a scene

I quickly realise

that this shit isn’t getting renewed

and just how many people

I’m putting out of a job

if their roles in this part of my story

depend on my performance,

or that I deliver

the right line

to the right girl

at the right time.


Mostly I’m spouting

free verse

about things I know little

to zilch


but playing it cool and


“I got this”-

if anyone would just stop

and think back to season two, episode 10

they’d figure out that this won’t end well

and I’m destined for

a series ending cliff hanger

that I still haven’t devised a plan

to write myself out of.


in that first moment after waking,

post sleep

when the world has been

going about it’s business without me,

but for a moment

a split second, really,

nothing has settled back into my thoughts

from the outside…

I wonder when

at what point

-ground zero-

when the day’s first second

started belonging to her.

How many places

and times

and faces

have been wrapped up in the space

where sleep

and dreams

and the weariness of the world

all convene and

talk amongst themselves

about the direction my day

will set off on.


It’s understandable

I totally get how

at the end of the day,

long after life closes down

and the world seems like

it might just shut off

that suddenly,

out of nowhere,

my thoughts would settle on

her face

her laugh



The day gone,

my time spent

I’m long out of bread crumbs

and I don’t care if I ever find

my way back

from the swirl of thoughts

that have me wishing for things before

I’ve even rubbed the bottle…


here, though

first light.

as the sun strikes me

warms my eyelids

shakes me to wake me

and buries the dream,

I think

just for a moment

about all the things that

have been wedged in this space…

but I can’t remember

for the life of me

what I woke up to before

she settled in.