In fields of green, where life does sway, I find myself amidst the play, The grass beneath my weary feet, Whispers secrets, gentle and sweet. Oh, the grass, so much like me, Bending with the wind, wild and free,

I am in a spaceless gap between here and elsewhere. My memories run down the dark corridors of my mind like wounded ravens in the night. I live in a galactic gap of existence, a pause between micro-moments in

But still I love you, as how a mother worn by a child’s complaints admires the back of his small head of curls. Or the way a woman leaves her fireplace into winter’s bitter ice with her dog leashed

​“She’s a devil with a little bit of angel dust.” –The Dropkick Murphys Leaving the safety of art school for the uncertainty of being an artist you photographed the detritus along the Williamsburg Bridge: the empty syringes & burned

I see that I am a form in space, sitting and waiting.  The red light as alive as my lungs and my kidneys. The car in front of me, the car beside me, the drivers and passengers behind their

She examined her hands meticulously like a bark beetle examines maple branches. A stone-eating politeness permeated her voice. As she spoke, the yachts in the bay, their sails folded, glittered in the sunlight– splinters in the body of an