Feeling of Wander

It’s true
That when you set out
With no objective
You quickly get one

It strikes you like
The sun strikes your face
At a magnified degree
To wake you up

On certain mornings

You step out and breathe the air
And suddenly you’re not without care
But you can do as you
So desire

Friends down the block
In parts you wouldn’t
Be able to safely walk
Off of Del Rosa

Home by another name

Church Street and Buckeye
In the shadow of an arrowhead

It’s pointing you to
The next graspable goal:


With your own place to make
Fit into the endless landscape

You can rocket down Boulder
In an S2000

Blockbusters at the cinema
Breaking up fights
Billowing vape
Blasting miles at a time

You can wake up and look out

At the entire valley
From a mansion’s balcony

Citrus Plaza, Redlands
Loma Linda foothills
Like the foothills of
East Highland

Where smog drifts in the air
Tying tongues in limestone
And burning lungs
With runes and tomes

When I cough I remember
This is where I’m from

The land of oranges
Of dry, hot air
Saturated only with
Broken glass and exhaust

You can find palm trees
Close to the cities

But once you leave the roads
You’re just a stone’s throw
From finding out why
You woke up this time today


Wandering In Seattle

Skyscraper lights
Bleed up
From the buildings

Flares of office lamps
Bounce off of copy sheets
Reflections snowblinding
Those on below streets

Dripping photon waves
Like buckets of water
Splashed all over
The place


A wander
A desert
A lightless sky
A blackened kind
Of night a crime
For void to shine

Glittery grey grains
In wind to wind
Up dunes so fine
Sandstorms to blot
The suns and blind

Million million summers
Verdant vermillion
Visions familiar
A spiriter smother
Intyranny covered
Mysterious phaser

A dithering withering
Force of nature
Campy grindhouse
Abstract creature
Shimmering beat
Of wilderness
On outskirts fierce

Million million



Give me a shemagh
And a
Jacket for the rain

Let me hide
From the breeze

A pair of leggings
And (a)
Two platform shoes

So I can walk
Through puddles and streets

Red and blue
Bruisy hues
Green and grey
Colors of cuts, too

Salted wounds
Scars from

Black wrapped clothing
City nights like
Those by Van Gogh

I feel so royal
Drab and indigo

Give me a shemagh
And a
Jacket for the rain

Let me walk
And deeply breathe

Every microgram
Of dye
Drops stain my body

My wrapping wicks
The wounds away

Give me a shemagh
And a
Jacket for the rain

I’m on the run
A vagabond

I feel so royal
Drab and indigo

These starry nights
Are ones I know

Dressed in indigo
And drab I’ll go

Years and Years

Years and Years

Doesn’t feel like years have passed
Since I’ve seen you last
Yet there you are

In between streets
Running in the urban dark
In between backlight of
Dim, orange street lamps
Like you’re the dark
Pupil of an haggard iris
With a backpack
Full of [bronze piano wire]

Your hair is blonde now
Your hands are cold
Uncovered by gloves
Or something warm to hold

Besides your tools
And your devices
Found from drifting

Up late nights
Like you have

Insomnia brackets

In the core
Of your distinct

With a weathered hoodie on
And joy ride jeans
Covering the jaunt
From infrequent rain