Bleeding Ink #1,160


Bleeding Ink #1,158


I’m not much 

On what to say 

But in between the lights maybe we can make it ok…

she moved in fast 

With the lightning and the waves 

When morning came she was gone away

Lately she’s been left out in the cold…

Alone on the rope 

Lately I haven’t had a lot to say 

Reaching over these walls we’ve learned to live in 

All I want is the fire that she makes 

The lightning and the waves 

Trace the fabric on the skin 

Feel the current  in her fingertips

Drink it in from her lips 

Lately I’m not much on words 

But she’s standing at my door 

In between the lights 

The midnight swim 

Her tides are coming in 


Bleeding Ink #1067

It’s national poetry month 

Everyone gets so nervous about it being the first of April

Don’t make jokes about suicide 





And all of that is very true 


I get excited about poetry …

About writing 30 for 30 

A poem a day 

About looking again

At the past 

And what inspires me 

To make this a safe space 

An encouraging space 

An escape 

And opening the door for literature 

And excitement 

And poetry

I honestly do not know 

How much fun was made today 

Reality lately has been so much weirder than fiction 

And what we see is not what we heard 

And everyone is speaking in subtitles written with Rose Art by Klingons…

And you know that shit crumbles right off the page 

It is unreliable 


I want to encourage you 

To keep your voice 


When you remain calm 

Even a sentence or a gesture 

Is a hurricane. 

Knowledge is power. 

We used to burn people for looking to the stars. 

Now we measure their distance.

Their light. 

And we study  gravitational waves. 

When turbulence was an issue 

We found a way to fly above the weather


To move forward this month

And this year


We can’t look back 

We are not going that way. 

This first poem in the 30 for 30 

Is for you. 

Bleeding Ink #1063

He was already against the next war 

He had his signs drying in the sun 

“No more war”

They said, in red and black 

No more war…

He walked out into the street 

The sun was hot 

Burning his hands 

He had his gas mask 

His sunglasses 

And his face wrapped 

The dust 

Covered everything

It hadn’t rained for months 

And there was no one left 

To read his sign 

He was already against the next war…

one war too late