Every damaged race,
Every forest tree
may change to young mourning,
butterfly damage,
female & male bodies
lay young,
not at all unusual.


Serotonin with a side of fries, please
The writing, art, and other mental health randomness from a 40 something teacher from New Jersey.
Every damaged race,
Every forest tree
may change to young mourning,
butterfly damage,
female & male bodies
lay young,
not at all unusual.


Liquid hunger kissing
will slowly disrupt
savage starving streets
mouths, hair, eyes, flesh…
part the pale almond dawn.


Stay safe and healthy, my friends 🙏🏻


“Let our scars fall in love.” – Galway Kinnell
Let the tire tracks we leave
in the fresh powder
fall in love with the arms
already asleep with The Walking Dead.
Let the fuel lights of our minds
love us enough to keep us
going twenty more miles,
on the nights we can’t stop
for fear of missing the next brilliant idea.
Let the snow-covered curbs we hit
while making careless right turns
forgive us and love us anyway
though we forget they are there
to keep us inbounds.
And let the windows we fail to defrost
thoroughly in the morning have mercy upon us.
Let their benevolence allow us
just the right amount of clarity to see
the brake lights ahead of us,
the coffee shops to the right of us,
and the phantoms behind us.

“Girls are not machines
And sex falls out” — Sylvia Plath
We’re more like the crane games
on a Jersey Shore boardwalk
Hands maneuver our hands
towards visible prizes


and treasures hidden in plastic shells.
If what we have for grabs is too heavy
the plushness slips through fingers,
weakened and rigged by the deceit of others.
Still, these hands keep rolling quarters of promises
into our waiting gaps,
the lights and sounds fill the quiet, dark
corners where we like to hide, waiting to see
how hard this one and that one will try
to catch our IPod hearts with irascible playlists –
to win our unicorns stuffed with everything
nobody else wants to know.