on the in between

on the in between

steel toothpick

backrooms, transition spaces

growing pains so harsh i grey out

comfort and dread in the alone ness of it all.

at what point am i not the good guy anymore? at what point am i no longer justifiable?

i dont hold on to anything solid anymore,

all ocean

all ebb and flow. all inbetween

she turns to punk to escape her bedroom eyes dread. her same same person town, the mamas, the others, even the others always had each other.

she started running away in art and music .

opening up into bowie orange county punkers to philosophical attitudes transcending the sameness around her. she gained a consciousnesses. she awoke. she can escape the mentality of everything around her through music and art.

but she longs to not escape. she longs for connection.

always grasping and expanding into the more! to reach to reach, to be invincible.

she knew she had potential, as fiona told her. she knew she was the walking embodiment of gods consciousness, as piaget told her.

all she heard apart from the art was silence, never what she wanted.

wisps of a cloud

wisps of a cloud

we never speak of when the clouds die,
when the sky ages and falls
i didn’t see the sun going out
to break an eternal law.

we never saw the mountains tremble
never saw them sleep,
i wonder if they’d notice,
would the people weep?

the wisps of a cloud carry on
(did anybody see it?)
and it transformed into the fluff of your hair
the strength of your bone,
(look closer now)
and the sky saw and made way to skin,
how it loves to stretch over, becoming again.
(it’s all around you)
when the mountains died, they became the point
in your fingernail, they hurried into the
grays and shadows of your eye,
and for the mountains know of age,
they colored your hair of gravel and stone.

i never saw the sun go out
fall shriveled to the bone
(take notice)
the light and shine under your soles
when the day is done i’ll see the remnants in the doorstep.



cultivate my sense of poetry
your lyrics are a forgery
they said they saw god in everything
they live, they dwell in the ordinary.
you critical of the divine
you look for spirituality in the shelter,
in the looking glass,
in the subway belter.
understand to us, its no mystery.
you said that christ was a man with a legacy
yes, i’d agree with individuality
but there is more than what’s seen in street lights
and walkways to the everyday.
0rganize my thoughts into the tangible scripts
no more, but
still don’t romanticize life without loving.