Blue vs. Orange

I went to an estate sale.

A woman was selling a baby blue guitar.

“It’s yours — I’m moving to Aruba.”

And off I went with baby blue in hand.

As Blue as an Aries,

was the name of the band.

There was a boy in navy blue swim trunks playing in a South Jersey blue hole.

I blushed at the site of him — pink.

I put down my guitar and started to paint my hair shades of blue.

Streaky and soft,

like watercolor ink.

I found a man in orange,

offering me warm bearded kisses.

I didn’t want them but I was cold.

“This could be a good move for me,” I thought.

I went to the bathroom to wash the paint out,

but the whole room was blue.


Sun Rain

I long for car sunburns,

sleep, and spearmint gum.

I’ll move to the Midwest and use it as toothpaste.

We’ll pass of Fireball on the road

and use bumps as pick-me-ups at 5am.

We’ll never think of the rain again.


I always crouch down in the dark.

Like a crab

in the night

over damp sand.

I can smell blood when I’m down this low.

I wonder how many toes I’ve cut.



Steve said my hair looked like the color of love.

That I sleep with my mouth open

and smoke too much weed.

I am filled with love.

I am overflowing.

I am surrounded.

I am love.

I am love.

I am love.

I am love.

I am love.

I am love.

I’ll never forget it again.



There’s a nice sea breeze

in the middle of the city.

I haven’t seen a seagull in 3 days,

but I found my seashell necklace.

I thought I lost it in 2013.

My hair is blue now

It looks dreamy, dreamy, dreamy

If you run your fingers through it

you will find starfish


and rough sand.

You can take the mermaid out of the ocean,

but you can’t take the ocean out of the mermaid.



The Big Dipper shook dust off; onto my skin.

Made me a beacon in a constellation of people.

I am one of everything

and everything is one with me.

I’ll never wash off the glitter again.



I was thinking about the Midwest.

White, orange, and black cars.

The color of the craft,

our New Year

Spotted on the first day of Summer.

Sometimes fresh starts aren’t always so fresh.

Sometimes they are hot and burning off scorching concrete.

Sometimes they are born on Midnight in the suburbs of Connecticut.




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