In Case You Ask

In case you ask. 

I want to trace the trail
of constellations that pepper your eyes
and dust [star]-dust
into the crevices of your soul;
the same crevice
I want to crawl into
To never emerge.
For there, shines sheer shivering brilliance,
a love unparalleled:
friendship, proportion, and faith.
Not a love that overthrows life,
or riots the heart;
but instead a map
built with stardust
revealing infinite paths
to the amber glow of this,
[whatever this is],
GD ’16

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New York, Nu Yolk.

A hush of marmalade ashh reaches;
rooftops swaddled in Steam’s grasp tremble terra-cotta tears

of [salt ‘n vinegar] chips
tumbling, with conviction, to an untimely


They watch, shingles shivering, breathing
life unto New York’s souls.

They, who watch wistfully, subliminally
remind of sea-faring mothers;
once forgotten.

She rides, floating, among the feathers of our birds;
fused upon decadence: the street-zel’s crown jewel.

Her legacy, culture if you will, emanates
in the alleys of her relentless rodents;
her mascot knows, sees, feels,


Her breath is the aroma of displaced decadencies,
perhaps this week’s trend, or my bleeding paper that holds

the scales upon which she resides.

“What’s for dinner?” they breathe…

“Home,” she replies.



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Ode to avocado

Shelled and eviscerated they lay
two shriveled avocado skins,
basking in the afterglow of devour.

Bequeathed nectar nourishes,
their job here is done.

Decadence envelopes my every whim as I sit
sun-slashed and shed reality’s
cruel desires.
A sharp intake of clarity reveals a truth long forgotten.

Decreed thee, Sir Adirondack:
Only the[e] sea holds the key
to my heart.

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Shame me
With your beady,

Slice me
With your shaming

Your gift is bountiful,
Mine remains

Lobotomized nuisance
Are we.

Thus we hollowly
Serve, your beadiness
With the sweat
Of our unrequited

Perishing an anguished
At the hands
Of our predecessors’

We lay flat,
Breathing shallowly.
A despairing song
Echoes in the hollowness
Of our minds
Reverberating weakly,
Muffled by the
Of your beady gaze.


I spy: Feminist Magazine: Let’s Talk About It

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Stafford Springs, muse: Emily Deford

Stafford Springs, muse: Emily Deford


Sometimes, the fire growls.
Glowing embers-
dull grey coats a sleepy spirit.
Live, fill everything and float…

Elated spirits come at a cost unbeknownst to no man it seems.
The weight of the world crushes,
filling spaces with gravel and sand.

Succumbing, floating-fleetingly
A memory vanished?
Why must it be that way!

Bare feet slap concrete in a glassy haste.
Clinking clavicles chime to the tune of a chilling reality.

Life: (n) a prescribed trajectory mindlessly fulfilling its fated assembly line.

Dreams of innovation cloud a dusty reality.
She weeps, for at midnight,
her carriage will sprout
and her mirage will have
in each

GD 2015

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Chameleon Man


Alexandre Farto a.k.a. Vhils (London)

Chameleon Man 

There was once a little boy who had many extraordinary powers.
When he was younger, he could change colors to blend in to his background.
It was a game he used to play.
Blend in to pretend.

“I’m a camouflaged soldier! Nobody can find me here. I’m safe from:
and fights.
I can look up
at the bottom of my bed
and know,

he can’t get me here.”

GD 3.15.14 student teaching 

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Saffron Skies


Vineyard Race August 2014

Saffron Skies

Crusted and dream drunk

rise the eyes to ride

none other than those saffron skies.

Aubergine silks pool at the edge of the world

to serve the drowsy tomorrowers,

blanketing a distant land

in what inevitably will be

one more yin and yang night.

Her angels wake wet and wild

on the cold cobblestones,

facing a reality just dreamt away.

She sits still and vigilant,

with eyes of flame and a brow only one man could ever see.

Saffron skies warn of storm

to land lock the salty miners.

Once more the auberjine veil lifts

to reveal a dirty truth.

So we pray to Allah,

it ‘tis but a dream.

Morocco 2014


Read and chow on delectable North African food –

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