Posted in New Work, Poetry

Flight School

Clock always ticking
but I can’t catch the
rhythm in its

I’m always just a little off.

Hours keep hostages;
Small cells into which are squeezed
essential bits of life.

But I don’t like the constraints;
[To be] ensnared in eternal judgment
by encroachments
of minute captivity
where there are always seconds…

Perpetual measures, calculated waste.

If time binds us,
then how too
can it leave us behind?

Freedom is timeless,
yet, time is priceless.
And still, flight is precious –
I’m just learning to fly.



20 December 2019
Posted in New Work, Poetry


Easy for you

to rip my heart in shreds,

easy for your selfish whims

to overshadow your care for me.

Once, I was special

to you.

Now, I’m only useful;

A tool that’s needed only occasionally –


to a time when I was


and wanted,

The sparkle’s worn off…

I still don’t know what to do with

these remnants.


04 December 2019