I will be the ground you walk on. 


Steady and true

When you get dizzy 

You can lay your head down 

And pour all your tears onto me 

I will use them to grow a tree for you

You don’t have to get up;

I will cover you with moss and ivy

Let you sleep it off for the next couple decades.

When you awake 

You will be softer than you once were 

Cool to the touch 

So when you try again 

And fail 

You may lay your head on me once more 

and I will protect you. 

I will continue to bloom trees in honor of you

Each time 

Something new will be birthed 

Because of you

You see, they think our tears are our weakness

They do not know 

We are Earth 

12, 13, 14

I threw out Temperance in a large white garbage bag.

The Hanged Man jumped in.

I held the flower flag of Death

and waited for them to be crushed,

but Temperance had other plans.

She slit open the bag from the inside

and all the trash spilled out with her.

Filthy, she ran into the woods.

The Hanged Man remained blissfully at rest

in his dirty tomb.

I was Death

and searched for skulls on the dirt road.


We’ll take a sailboat to Norway,

so the pets can come along.

I’ll paint the front door red

Look for hawks in the sky

Walk around the lake in the clouds.

I want to taste the mist each morning

and eat the stars at night.

We will rule ourselves

and follow the old ways

of the old gods.

The dictator will rot

in his golden tower

across the sea.


I’ve been dreaming of Russian winters,

rescue planes,

taking 6-hour flights

for 45-minute brunches,

to show people how much I care.

Dashing red velvet ropes

for closed off areas

Grand marble staircases

Gathering troops

to hijack the castle

Waiting on snow

for the team to show up

and give me a ride

I have brunch plans in six hours.


Mixing and matching and memories and dreams.

I saw that color red again

It was a door this time 

Pulsed like a siren 

You weren’t at that party

But I wrote you in anyway 

I talked to Ray 

I talked to Edd 

Those were real 

I keep sewing you into my thoughts and I can’t backstitch it out 

You’re woven into the fabric 

And whenever I picture it

The fabric is always red 

White Oak

I know this looks bad

and it keeps getting worse

Spreading, definitely contagious

My mother told me it was White Oak.

It was deep teal, emerald green,

blue, purple, black.

It made impressions of fishnets on my skin

There was sand flaking off

Making me pick and scratch

Tiny conch shells and specks of glitter

The air was heavy and I began to drown

It was time for the sea to take me back

I escaped for the river

Hit the ocean by dawn

I was lost beneath choppy waters, metallic swirls of oil, and plastic bags.

“I need to get out of the city.”

What an understatement that was.




Nancy and I missed the party. 

She wouldn’t budge. 

Losing a minute meant losing an hour. 

I’d look down at her watch 

(She doesn’t wear a watch) 

And another hour down the drain.

And another.

And another. 

I grew impatient and snatched her wrist.

The face cracked and she just laughed.

“Time doesn’t mean anything here Casey. Don’t you see?”

You should watch the sky and not the ground.