Bohemian Heart 

The other day, I dreamed of  a little cabin with mud and hardwood walls and old fashioned neon orange light bulbs hanging from the ceiling on thin, long wires. You smelled of pine and raindrops and you danced with me to the beat of our bare stepping feet, A charged …

Poetry

It’s not bad or good It’s real or fake Because there is no good or bad sadness There is only real or fake. Let’s take that ink to paper Who the hell cares if it rhymes? But listen, You stop being the person who enjoys parties Or anything much You’ll …

Here’s To a New One

The Story of I Part one I showed my writings to a smart little boy once I knew I could trust him because he eats sunbeams for breakfast, he stretches to kiss magenta skies at dusk and almost always smells like a coffee ceremony of roasting beans, popcorn and incense. …