In the flickering lamplight
I listen or your call,
the sound from you returning to
this solid soil.
I awoke at 5, whence once
the jazz turned to talk
and I, alone, in my bed,
was reminded of my solitude in the
night. While all others slumbered.
Alone I sat, I sit alone. Listening
for that sound, that
single signal showing me you’re
Never knowing if I should return
home, giving up the search.

Your sketchbook, your soul,
given to me to stow for the while,
sits on sheets and somehow I
sense you through it. You will
be back to reclaim what is
yours in time.

12-Step Program


At last, as though two long-lost sisters, they have found eachother. Two meteorites colliding, making a BANG, and take over the gaseous nothing which surrounds them. They combine their forces as the great Dynamic Duo that has finaly realized their strength together. What can they do now? O what possibility! they have as a double-force of ignorant weight-throwing, refusing to back down. They hate themselves, eachother, and everything around their pocket of nothingness. They are drawn together, somehow, against nature, by their negative poles, though Nature herself deemed it so to happen! Fuckin’ finally! Two chicks to cluck about neither hide nor hair, together, thinking their askew’d thought The Word.

The Parisian Sessions


Last night I swallowed
my French heritage.
It was everything It could be-
soft murmurs incomprehended;
Breathing into me, knowing
I understand.
A dream unbelievable
Hours of my wildest imagination
right before me

I have not yet woken up.