To Philadelphia, With Love

Street corners in the inner city,

Cul de sacs in the suburbs,


Nowhere feels safe.

They steal from us, then degrade us.


Arrest and slay us.

Trying everyday in every way to erase us from history,

But still we fight (and fight we must!)

we refuse to abide.

(Barely) Swimming

Truth spilling out like salt

Fire in my guts

But stiff legs keep me from flight

Holding on to the happy remnants of the past and trying to trash the rest

Punch a clock, pay the bills


Return to stress

Gnawing at thoughts, eating skin

Deep breathing, deep sea of relaxation

Oils, candles, scents, and bath creams

All amounts to the same thing


Cocktail Party

We’re all the same,
deep down,
driven by fears or desires,
shrouded in different colored wrapping paper, called skin.
We’re all the same,
searching, scratching, yearning for
adoration, success, acceptance
breathing in conversations like second-hand smoke,
faces, names, all jumbled up.
We’re all the same,
repeating past mistakes,
breaking promises,
you can fight it but
We’re all the same,
trying, needing, hoping to
unknown ends,
finding temporary ways to
soothe sadness, heal hurt,
extinguish anger.
We’re all the same,
deep down,
dark insides tucked into
shiny sweaters,
downing wine and craft beers.
We’re all the same,
judge less, love more

Vodka, Whiskey, Gin – A Reflection

First taste, first touch.
Long nights throwing up.
Hard lessons growing up.
Can’t say I’ll miss you all that much.

Tears and regret spilling onto hardwood floors.
Climbing out of taxis, searching for the love we all deserve.
Used to steady my soul (or so I thought).
The writer’s choice of self-destructive elixirs.

Bitter all the way down, ‘til you add olives and vermouth.
Held me up when I was but a husk.
Kept me together, kept me numb.
Pushed my body to the point of breaking.

All I’ve learned from these three, buried in my bones like hidden treasure.

Vodka, Whiskey, Gin – nearly a decade of love/hate, now it’s farewell, so long, our time has finally come.

Full Circle


this is your story


no matter how hard you tried

couldn’t get enough

all wrapped up in


plated in glory

a crash, a bang

how IT all began

and nearly ended


glass flying through the air

out onto road

now you’re here


all wrapped up in



blood in the streets,
still I’m not surprised,
hateful hooded men who carry torches breeze past me everyday,
in the supermarket, on the subway –
cloaks and masks removed.

blood in the streets,
and somehow the opposition is to blame,
how dare we fight back against an armed, racist, mob,
don’t you know who gets to carry the pitchforks around here?
(hint: it’s not you and I)

blood in the streets,
and broken bodies out on sidewalks all summer long,
when’s it going to finally sink in?
more incendiary threats and half-baked wars,
this nation will be its own ruin.