mad few months y’all. Took the GRE. Wrote the feature for and crowdfunded for my second film, High (we will be making a short after all). Applied to Grad School. Worked, taught, went home to Colorado, moved apartments here in NYC. And hence, it’s been several weeks since I updated this blog. For anyone just visiting: I use this blog to log the gold remnants from my journaling exercises. You know, most of it is rambly not-much, or it’s just so angsty and biting, I could never let anyone see it, OR it is chunks from bigger projects already in progress – but the morsels that I might want to revisit later or share right now – I put these here.

I started this blog when I first moved to New York, and now it’s been two and a half months past my first year here. I’ve learned to keep moving forward, because what else can you do? I take big risks and try my best at everything I want to do. This is all I have to offer.


^^ Just keep on.



One Person Bicycle

Today my skin is cool

And firm I

Am wrapped around my own bones

No one else is sharing

Am wrapped around my own bones

Gliding elevated

One person can ride a single seat bicycle

Two seat bicycles are difficult to lug around and maneuver



Summer Sweat

How is it already the end of July?

I smell humid & salty & I am proud



Feel Like a Writer

I don’t feel like a writer because I’m

Always coming across words I don’t know,

Always meeting people who speak better than I and

Have more followers on their poetic Instagrams,

Always reading e-mails that say, “Thank you, but”


I do feel like a writer

Because I am alive for it



For Beloved Lemonade

When cicadas whine


In the heat


The sun sets and

Your calves are bug bit when

Southern Porches, White & Calm & Swollen


I sip a glass of lemonade


Yellow juice the color of


Clean with

Shiny Plastic

The sugar dries my throat



Burnt Orange

The trees, the Aspens, range from the light, aching green of a unripened banana to the burnt orange of maturity.

There is less of the burnt orange: it is early.

I desire to see more of the burnt orange.

To eat it, shove it up inside me, melt it into my chest;

bathe & roll & bathe & roll & bathe & roll.

The burnt orange recognizes the sharp edges



Trees & Concrete

The rustle

Trees rustle

Trees shake their ballgowns

They’re out there saying

“It didn’t all used to be here like this”


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