Don’t Look Down

Don’t look down

Let go

Be bold

Favor the future

And face the truth



Top of the Roll

Roll out the curtains

Fire up the engines

The moments among us

The friendships

Love and being

In the moment together

On a Wednesday

Brisk morning

Bombay Cafe

In the heart of London

Where the isles are winding

To the heart of the city

We dine

One Monet moment

At a time

Wooden counters

With airy old jazz numbers

Fumbling along

With a reserved evening

In the heart of London

Educated from the Ill-Fated​

Don’t wait to return

Educated from the ill-fated

Decisive ability to divide

Than to unite

A tenous copper pipe

Winding through our hearts

Off we go



The hills

Way above the city

Where the dense fog lay

Is a town

Sleepy and slow

With shadows over the town

Trees and roads

Wind carelessly

Through hills and valleys

We rest upon these hills

And regain


Spilled Milk on the Red Line

Spilled milk on the Red Line

Veins of white

Rush down the floor

“That ain’t mine”

The lady with two hats on yells

The man

Visibly exhausted with his head back

Is not one inch close to conscious

As the white pours through the isle

Pictures being snapped

A moment catches

The woman with the bike laughs

Late night Red Line

Public transportation

Strange spilled iterations

As the winds wind through

The tunnels

Below the streets

Of L.A.

Desperation of Desolation

The desperate times

Desperate measures

Come up with something good

A productive measure

In times worn thin

As the veil of light

Through the morning curtains

We have to continue to

Rely on food decisions

To set us right

Round the Corner

The simple smell

Can trigger so many memories

Roasting coffee

In Williamsburg

Takes me to years

On the road

So fresh and clean

Yet Smokey and full

The roast roars our into the air


And bringing back

Memories of good times