In another life, I’d be a painter, an architect, someone who rummages through antiques and builds vintage beauties bejeweled contraptions, no real purpose. In another life, I’d be a busker, a savant on the guitar, a manic nightwalker whispering lewd melodies in virgin ears. I’d be your underbelly. Your shadow. Your pulse. Through the vines, … Continue reading



I’m not a Disney princess, And I’m not a showgirl either, That one time I dabbled in burlesque, I fell, and fell, and bled a little puddle. It’s too bad, though, because that yearning to be a ballerina has plagued me for quite some time, Not sure if it’s the poetic tip-toes, Or the ribbon, … Continue reading

Poetry / Prose Poetry


“They bleed for each other,” Mr. Shifterton said in that all-knowing, dramatic tongue that only writers and philosophers talk like. “Silly, silly kids.” Mrs. Carrysherself licked her sticky lipsticked mouth and nodded along, vodka-glazed eyes batting heavy lids, thick with black and blue dust caked on like sympathy on church Sunday. Clammer-lashed in the kitchen, … Continue reading