The fermenting bowl of unripe thoughts

Art, at it’s core, is a way to communicate that which we are unable to express in any other way.

I lost myself.

The question I return to

Who is living? Who is breathing at saturation max?

When you make peace with yourself

the world makes peace with you


For some

there is a person

without whom

the soul would have died

not in some dramatic way

no, the death of the soul is never a combustion

the death of the soul

is desiccating



deserted skies

but you

you kiss my bones

breathe my bones alive

Aural Tide

A rhythm

I return to

The beat of my heart

the first time I met myself

an acoustic bouquet

drifting through window screens

pivot in dust

So you plant for forty years

So you break the ground and pivot in dust

and the seeds that you press, that you hope, will root down

they’re your hope

they’re your hope that you’ve found

So you plant for forty years

So you plant

So you plant for forty years

Rene Aubry

Lighthouse or when we met

Tattered curtains aflame

and I, the broken sill

a scene to frame

white tipped waves crashed


on unsuspecting shores

Your timbre was my refuge

A madness I could comprehend

A paracosm to explore