from bed, before the sun rises


catatonic children donned rhinestone suits for the procession

stamped behind one another

walking in tireless fashion

scorn sewn to their experience-less expressions

riveted and compelled



filing past suits and pinned flowers, stretched faces finding and fulfilling their future

suddenly dead drum beats find their final echo

halting the synchronized steps to stranded conclusions, they turn to the marionettes and bow

moments later

scattering flashes

reflections a blur

costume changes


labeled by age no more

it’s their turn to lead refusing to reuse tread upon tired traditions


insisting you acknowledge purple satin sunsets wearing what you came in

splayed haphazard

in the birthing rays of dying days

step-by-step, shuffle, and step, run, now stop, step-by-step

from a couch, pulled from the past relevant for the future, our present

**Cleaning up some ideas, i wanted to get this on this site to go back to.

Bonus, enjoy.

Written July 9, 2016:

To the death

Cities dead

Our children learning geography through humans eating humans blaming humans assuming humans racist humans scared humans.


No, we can’t go there, children were shot, Mickey left the castle believe it or not, a new town marred and sandy hook scarred. Eiffel tower? and now the lonestar? St. Paul, New York, wait, let me stop.

It’s everywhere, where I’m not.

Oh, it’s here.

Less bullets more minds.

Why does it take death to realize

It’s racing through you when you first rub thighs

Inhaled between your infant cries

I can only surmise, you’ll act surprised when I say I see it deep set in those eyes.


The ones who kill others they haven’t met, willing to take a chance on a half baked bet

Fed through the tv set.

Aspersions cast

The stars of this show.

We are taught not to regret.

It’s in the mirror

A faint windex smear, I thought I scrubbed hard enough to make it clear.

The filthy ignorance of generations passed.

God damn Mississippi can we at least get past the spread of color on a gay mans mast or hue of human skin, please, at last!


What were you told when you were young?

Face your fears and they’ll be overcome.

Face them with confidence, poise and grace

Not the end of a gun or scowl on your face.

My team, your team, the team that won.

We lost

A stain on cities, the cost?

Do you see your place in history?

Understand you matter?

Is this even reality?


Struggle to know that we are killing one another, killing one another, a child has a mother and you are killing my brother. Assumptions, gumption and praised ignorance

Come together!

This doesn’t make sense.

I don’t believe things are this bad, it’s illuminated by this new fad. Pop culture stupidity, video game invincibility.


That’s a child, your neighbor, police officer – you can name them.


So what now?

We can keep collecting cities, looking at kitties and all shapes of titties. Or, we can galvanize, open our eyes, stare in surprise about the reality that came from lies.


We don’t hate one another.

We’re Afraid.

from a couch, a shorty

stranded in a city made for me

the pilot who brought me here was sure i’d have a key to unlock the mystery buried in the sea of starlit sunshine that sunk our treasure it’s glowing beauty is all i remember in passionate riptides it was pulled out further and further and further and i gave up watching and decided to leave

**A draft that didn’t see light, not sure of date:

i wake up half baked and the world gives me time to add and equate the benefit of doubt due to the color of my skin a lapse of reason a few minutes to begin good intention seekers nicely imprisoned for laundering our whites, not the socks in the duffel, yet an equally angry vet wondering where the rules went with an ever changing board designed to adapt to rent its slipping away and the fear and intimidation that still sit silent in alien suburbs where they don’t see torches as necessary defense i’m the lucky one spewed out washing my skin duty delivered and i’m stuck within clambering to the next of kin where do i go? i want to help. i’m not one of “them” the great forgetting wasn’t lost on me i’m decidedly pretending i haven’t added to this. the start? polish and Italian joke books in 2nd grade, mocking street slang, defining identities by the size of their nose all the while being told ‘but you’re not one of those’ i wasn’t overtly taught to be racist, so i supposed, its who we are under the clothes that i wore in an effort to avoid confrontation i didn’t know why you couldn’t eat bacon. i should have asked. but when you’re born with privilege that you don’t even know math equation symmetry is all that’ll show.

adjust our lenses

feel the flow

all are one toe to toe

from bed, the plate is loaded

the line between love and unkind voices

voices that shake at a moments notice hoping we will go away during their midday walks to the food truck, ungratefully George Jeffrsoning it to the window hoping it’ll shake down a smile

it doesn’t translate

it wasn’t even close

he tries again assuming trips to Mexico count as language emersion experiences ordering tacos with american cheese


unseen eye rolls

he wraps it up and flip back his tie

you can do it in reverse order

the dramatic tie bit

or, is that later tonight

he gives the eye to a flipped gender he thinks he engendered while discussing the ‘nectar of the gods’ (his words to be sure) he’ll be gurgling with four other bloated fucks who look like him

unscrewing little black caps and discussing states and years

your status is clear and clearly defines the time you think your curfew is while you leave behind that high school sweetheart story you smile through after your first morning coffee to show you have enough sugar to kill the economy of both countries and reconcile erased travel trip nights ‘networking’

the caps piled up

your lease on life and luxury car allows you to make it home without a question from that swerve on your phone


you stumble in lingering with that last stop complaining she is acting like a cop while self serving yourself in the mirror through shaken and stirred lenses

she’s crying

you think it’s irrational

go to sleep

and stay there

from bed, wrapped in a towel waiting

cancer crushed the cornerstore front where i was soft selling my wares to those who would stop long enough to understand the value of worlds that would emerge from words they heard dripping with hyped to high-heaven hyperbolic terms, a pitch to catch every dime store dip-shit who couldn’t discern between integrity and the incessant need to flatter ourselves in the dark imagining that she would actually come home with us

or him home with me

you home with he

we don’t come home

i wasn’t so disillusioned

understanding fever pitch i walked away before the switch would kill the last necessary need to continue to feed the balancing half of this distraction

it was destruction

disappointed that you kept defending their right to feed at the same trough as the ones who gave you this cloth, stained with the way you trained them to listen when nobody else would come

a disease

innocuously took the heat for you

the lie for him

the life from them

why did you tell me you were born in July

I was at that store

when your mom, on your birthday, left you in the falling snow

from bed, a letter

Hi –

Thank you to all followers and those who stop-by to check out “my morning stream”. If you haven’t read the “about” tab, please do, it shares the process and project behind this blog.

In total, I’ll be looking at two years of streaming, editing, sharing, worrying, forgetting, fretting in self-conscious fits, and otherwise being a writer who feels as though they have something to share.

Delayed gratification, wrapping my head around insecurity, and understanding process are the underlying personal challenges i expose while undertaking this endeavor.

Themes that come out of my writing? Those are many and varying.

I rushed around a lot, still do some, though I’m coming to terms with my skin and abilities of what I am and who I share – what we have is one another. Not always peaceful, not always at war, and sometimes just being; yet together as we push and pull to create something greater than what came before.

By profession, and otherwise, i’m a teacher. i believe in the pursuit of being uncomfortable, taking risks, and sharing what we have to offer to continue sewing the infinite thread that passes through the tapestry of human history, as to not lose the fundamental pieces of who we are as beings.

Who are we?

People who desire love and community, people who are destined to experience loss and humility. One beat with billions of faces finding ways to contemplate and share experiences that bind us.

Thank you, again, for your support. Some days I’m embarrassed by what I publish, others proud, and sometimes I feel like I don’t know the person who wrote the words you see.

Surprise and mystery, of ourselves and one another, are reason enough to rise in the morning.

I look forward to conversation and visiting the worlds you create.

Thank you,


from a stool, morning is becoming night

i slumped

when i saw the satisfaction you took in skipping ahead of the sunrise

a surprise

it was ours

the glow

coming up, casting shadows with caution while carefully creating cascading columns, shafts of light to shelter the catatonic owls who squint themselves to sleep

you didn’t want to be there

alone and unaware of the depth my breath would have to travel in an effort to calm my loss

the losing of someone who celebrated our awakening

you see,

i need you

and it’s a lie they feed you that we’re suppose to find this thing by ourselves

that somehow strength is found in stretching our arms and eyes without you to spy so i can surpass the butterflies that crawl and flutter through bellyaching nights to an understanding of this thing

this life

this temptation to answer the question we’re born with

the exercise of pushing limits in search of hoping, accidentally, without hurting

we can find the truth

come back