ask me why I’m cold

how you turned down the temperature
ask me why I wear a thicker skin
say less and show less
how you cut me off when I was
wearing thin like fresh flesh
brave to all your actions
and once
full of love and steps forward no
retractions until I
fell over a cliff and
ask me why I’m cold
forget why I forgot to be bold
ask me why I’m cold
I’ll say its nature
a season a winter a way of life
because it has become a habit
a nature a nurture
a burrow to the rabbit.
Let me not step forward
let me put my heart away
let me not voice what I wanted to say
let you be you
and me be me
It is time to move away


and they were all connected

like water with the wind,
their strands were all dissected,
their hands and hearts were pinned,
their pasts were resurrected-
they made stamps out of their sins,
their walls were white and washed they never
blinked to see a picture
their calls quietly severed
they never stopped to think it injured
their paws did lose all padding
their gaze did lose adding
like water in the wind
their strands were all dissected
they hold their stamps out heavy
they fold their arms as levee
they close their eyes as curtains
they draw their mind for shelter


won’t see me
you glaze over me like a distant thing an
irritating spot you want to scrub off or
look the other way so it hides in your blind spot
answer every question with a defence ready to
water this witch instead of the sister that I am
when I have imagined us getting along for years and
hoped that one day I would grow into you but you
shuffle backwards and away disgruntled and annoyed
that I tried to hug you with a yellow-snot nose
you do alot and I see it but I only remember that
its bad I know and that is the mess you kick
you never looked so you never saw the intention in my heart
the endless invisible conversations I’ve had, the three of us,
that feeling of security and comfort when you are around the
people you have grown up with
looking out for one another
I feel alone
this is not a poem
I will not try to make it rhyme or communicate it clearly
I just want to write it because- better out than in
I feel like you don’t love me

what is this

a wave
a message
a thought
-an afterthought?
what are these pixilated
dreams placed atop another on a plate
a towering scraper on a platter we call fate
what is this
trance that doesn’t see
those eyes that never meet your gaze
the heart that cries every time it -really- prays
what are these clothes those words these
shields we construct like castles and worlds
that warp our vision and never listen those
walls so hard to hit yet never glisten those
dark clouds that we carry like the frowns above our
gaze what is this cage that I am trapped in what is this
maze where is that distant pindrop goal that once directed,
without the notes on a page will the music still play?

What we are

we are communicators, in essence. We are storytellers. We linger on a moment and an instant and we stretch it until we see all of its pixilated skin clearly and without a doubt. Until we see closer and magnified as many of its infinite reflections that we can. We are builders and, pixel by pixel we will construct, we will do it by sound and sight and smell, we will do it by reflection and memory, we will even do it by pulling closer those thin threads from our childhood, nostalgia, the ones that would surely break because of distance, had we not been there to remind you, subtly, that you exist as a whole, with a history and a future. That you are one and contained and that your story, which you cannot see, confines you. We are communicators, and we hope that we communicate the means to derive the feelings that will form a story that will leave you with a meaning and a lesson.

and the rainbows hit the air

as the sparkling water sprinkled
over all of us, the stompers
of the dust, mini tornado whirlwinds
uniting to cause havoc in the sunshine
the glitter smiles for miles n miles
the werewolves the pixies the fairies the unicorns
the scarecrows the treaters and the tricksters
the laughing and the crackling the cheeky
and the hipsters
tunes that turn your limbs into spiritual
instruments listening and responding to
all the echoes of its layers a mind that
is unknotting a mind that is unclogging
a freedom a breath a breath a breath
eyes wiped clean and see fresh
life and pure love everywhere the self has lost
its frame watch it fly across the plains
in a dance and a trance and a some
pixilated grains
a stable stance, an unravelling of mindful
moment, an extension of connection, a
progression of being,

the evolution into seeing.