we can go on, but not this way

feeling the air

get on its way for the day

cool setting out

as sunlight takes its place


in the moment,

presence blends among warmth and chill,

thoughts of mummy, tea, and the way leaves listen

to bend ever slightly

…is it learned? do they let go? to catch and pass down, I mean –


a look to the clock.

full stop.

the mechanism continues,

without “you” …is that okay? am I okay? what is okay?

let it be. in every sense. as it be.


untitled, in three parts

part one

scoring the halls of institutions

a childish convergence without question,

rather a tunnel of answers, along the sides

pulling the eyes to a crossroads, in a rush

and a sudden halt


rejection of your ways mirrored

turns you internally

so what is that I’m on about…


cue the crisis, identity clarification comes at a price

at times, worthy, and indulgent, and always the former

then found that – woe, who is me? not nearly enough in a world of tangible dreams

there must be deeper still

beyond a body politic

before the rites of men principally concerned with praise,

rarely the practice


part two

through these phases, I find my poems feel like prayer – recited, though they may be spelt again

in revisiting selves

being, what were, and others,

you may wander upon bridges unfamiliar or

worse: familiar and uncomfortable.

you may find transformation is relative,

not unrelatable


and there for all tethered to it

do not think yourself special, nor weak


part three

it’s been a minute

since I’ve channeled the audacity

to speak admittedly,

you know how heavy that ego be and now

I feel the space to breathe

rising up out of me, from the collective sea,

knowing the tongue in this cheek

how it whips sweet and dark from beneath

the source drips deep


sweet nothings

nihilists are dreamers, no doubt

drawing upon blanks where input be constant and continuous and it seems we’ve lost pace of the cycles that hold us in stride

theres something about their appreciation for absence in the midst

of largely inconsequential abundance 

..where it matters most, anyway

unriled amongst frenzy, 

calm as the storms eye

stoic to the whiplash set for fickle folks –          

twisted necks with swollen heads, wrapped up and drowning in material things

the way of trade in manufactured currency and fear that we won’t fit it all onto the heavenly plane –

many of us pray the distortion is in our mirror

– stoics will remember, one never truly sees one’s self so perception be the low-lit lantern leading to another 

or did you ever think that the anarchists are saddest to see the state go

having spent lifetimes trying to say loudly and clearly, through dusty texts and encrypted messages:

‘it is [all of] ours to take. We could share and savor [with or without] it. Don’t you see?’

but with never enough means collected to prove such possible, let alone true, to those tied to the tangible

bearing witness well before tender hands raised and clenched to resistance yet

here we are, many with early eyes, shocked by the tragedy – a bubble, burst in the lukewarm bath, an uncaking of sweet sticky sleep about the creases 

we some have attuned to the waverings of your voice and the tears, your sweat –

vibrations of the air and salt of the earth

bearing the reality that all in all cannot be,

that smoke and mirrors be revealing 

we stay pupils, young, invisibly connecting that that we see to be drawn to. 

it’s familiar, the earnest call to company amidst chaos and somehow unrecognizable, the statement of natural born rights to resolution –

you know – commitments of our choosing, and the silver cloud clarity of conviction 

and the spirit seekers who chase down ghosts and illuminate phantoms of who we could be, what we could see with eyes soft, lids pressed upon each other, cleansed of false promises and pre-packaged hopes, in lieu of empty frames on a scrolling stage

who know that the little bits of divinity we are granted as humans being are never guaranteed to stay here – welcome , at times conjure , you are precious and fierce.

sit, be. whole in partiality. 

these statements are assured yours as well:

we are of this earth and air and much more 

we are of this world yet feel the cosmos beyond our bones

it is those/us/the seers, speakers, healers

whose sense of relation binds our words , wounds , and sentiments to entities beyond current comprehension , currency , or fortune-funded communications, no?

and if all we do is to turn this deep breath and heavy sigh – a last expulsion, together, into a meditative motion, a reverberation.. why not? how so? is it zealous exaggeration, mastery of illusion, basic distillation? “judged” so, perhaps. 

*note that no action is detailed in these declarations, hear these poems are my truth and I couldn’t bear misguiding. Any answers in this script lie with you

circumnavigate if you must to find who you are is right here and not and know that you know it so

let positivity ring out from your NO,

and every attempt to save your soul from the wretched self and it’s jealous lovers


building benevolence (playing crane)

​soft, smooth to let what will, flow

stubborn and strident to make it happen

perhaps both…goals

on alternate ends,

inviting you to open up and see it all, broad

part of one sum, something greater


because there will be times the truth

shows your self to you

and times out of balance

but do not practice the latter. trust.

I once tried –

to escape the former, self,

and reached the same

dark, dank, dreadfully conscious corners

each round about

until standing one leg taut,

this being built up, greeted reflection,

flexed, and flew out


drawing in, extending, retracting,

along the way

seeking to build benevolence

once and for all, resolved:

not to take this life to its end

but to disappear time and again,

unconcerned with returns,

to learn of shared destiny,

that work be prayer and playtime,


and though spirits be bound to something

near secrecy

all souls at some crossroads,

find harmony.




learning of intention and ecology from the ‘ways of antiquity’ | reflecting on the Met

It’s tempting to oversimplify and romanticize the past, but a recent visit to The Metropolitan Museum of Art got me in my feelings and sparked questions in me – what is there to learn from the “ways of antiquity”? What, generally, could the ancients still pass on to us? What is there to carry into the future?

It’s something in the differences of approach to essential and daily habits – necessarily and naturally – between us now and those for whom society was a nebulous concept, and resources were basically whatever was there.

It’s like they bore the moral responsibility of working with the environment to survive, sure, but deeper than that, it was key to their being. These people did the same things we do, but with more intention, reverence for each piece, seemingly unaware or phased by the concept that defines them now, the ways of antiquity.

I mean maybe the pure golds, textures, jewels, and intricate designs were meaningless then – they certainly weren’t worth as much as in the present-day. Perhaps they were fully aware that they were not guaranteed the materials again, or they created without considering that they would need another of the thing before the time came. If so, it wouldn’t be a replica. Maybe that conservative approach laid the foundation for engaging fully in creative, constructive processes, in the development of skill.

Perhaps the value we calculate was the result of one person or village’s act to reinforce the significance of that object to them – the utility in its being and the craftsmanship in its creation manifest, without division.

For the first time – and it could be that I’m projecting emotional vulnerability at this time in my life – a museum made me feel sentimental. Looking at the art of Africa, Oceania, and the Americas actually felt so intimate: ogling jewelry, critiquing letter openers, admiring instruments, observing texts, that belonged to people across the world. These items were built to last beyond that glass – they aided people’s social, spiritual, and physical well-being. 

Now, we humans mass-produce, ship internationally in a day, and digitize ourselves – surely, quality, artistry, and economy exist in another realm as a result. What of our history? Will it be told in the mundane and unique, in the fantastic outliers?

When there are millions of the same forks in circulation, what will future humans place in museums to identify where they’ve come from? Sure, a fork isn’t spectacular, but the tradition of sharing meals is ancient, and to be witness to that is telling of the impact of our ancestors on us.

It’s like they left pieces of shared memories, snapshots for us, where the age on it and difference in era is obvious. But you squint, and wonder, are we so far apart? Have we falsely separated ourselves from them? Old and new ways may merge yet. Necessarily, in my opinion and hope.

Much of the skeleton of those societies remains with us; humans continue to pray, to nourish our bodies, to gather, to trade. So they have left these artifacts behind on their way, and I wonder what this era’s imprint will be. We should ask, “how some of the same human activities manifest?”, considering the problem of many hands and short-sighted economic development, with wasteful practices and the costs of innovation making it difficult to start for many people.

As the wake of industrial capitalism takes its toll, though, there are more and more viable, ecologically-attuned alternatives rising as well; some take us back to ancient ways and others project our future – and both, of course.

I use “wake” because I believe it’s on it’s way out. Times change, and opportunity grows where we are present to reinforce it. Now, we have room to employ updated philosophy and morality regarding the pieces and practices that fill our homes, making conscious decisions about what we produce and consume and trade by considering both past and potential. The scope of wastefulness and wants that plague us in contemporary living demand that we do.

So about what it is we can learn from folks long gone – it can be the little things that have deep meaning in the scheme of it all.

nurture light // we must

when it comes down to it

all must come to bear

it’s said in rhythm 

at times in rhyme, my dear,

and without reason

internally, eternally

seasons pass 

of our own dreaming

when tales turn ripe then stale

just as well, 

one can go any time,

there is no place like nowhere

and the finite is trifling

don’t let them drag you to their ends 

child of diaspora, you know they could never

take hold your soul

so burst forth

spectra constantly bend

and melanin, 

absorb, glisten, radiate, 

as the moment the candle is lit,

the aura brought with it

in scent , warmth , waves

see, make your way

you are born, perhaps bred to

again reformed , strengthened by a hand cupped at the side

soft vigilance 

enlightened by who we truly be

what is there to seek?

vision carries we

and will takes many forms; 

some we know and won’t

revolution is a process of pull close and unwind 

we’ve broken night before – hold tightly 

.. to BLACK LOVE + transcendence and revolution + TRUTH + eternal youth + flaws + fullnessness + LIBERATION + dignity 

.. things we learn from one another, that cannot simply be known of – we must nurture.

we must nurture. 

we must nurture. 


a foggy acrostic

A simple acrostic, via Daily Prompt: Foggy

Feeling full and free – of what, I’m not sure..

Obscure visions of paths cosmically connected

Give time for pieces to settle and air to clear.. perhaps chaos finds a state of rest here

Generously dressed in cool, neutral, whipped swirls..

Yet again, it furls and discloses of its own volition, this fog

…so, I suppose, the rest must remain to be seen.



(in)rupture | watch

it’s this..

sinking feeling

thick like soggy heat

escalating summertimes

over time, filling your lungs

inevitable equilibrium

once again

breathe in

spill out

think: did you leave something burning?

burn more we are running out

think of regenerations,

seven steps ahead

regardless of timeline or path taken

what then?

what if they ask to know?


when we passed by the whole point in our advancing ability to project, and

pushed onto pressure

when we first tuned out the steady, echoing drip or the smell of sulfur

or let go the weight of our way collectively

openly consuming our selves

while men sat in rooms drawing lines in the sand, in the cities, overseas

in the bathrooms, classrooms, wombs

– all routes tried and tried again in

pursuit of fools’ gold

ethicless goals in powerpoint and coal may glitter all the same

and who are these

corporate state-sanctioned people

that don’t feel the Sun

and what have they done

with our life-blood

taking and breaking, never giving

plunging crude down our throats by night-lingering light,

aiming to stifle the song of the future

you are responsible for your wake

in this world, enough often comes in hindsight

uninvited, packaged tightly

so when nothing is said

and it all comes undone

it is natural law

power, as energy, flows, seeps, stains,

rumbles underfoot and hides in plain sight

look around


never disappears, cannot come from nowhere

just as the marginalized, displaced, denied


you will find yourself wrapped up in it

feel to gasp and pull away

what then?



as we, we can,

let us make use of our will

it is a long time coming