This is how I turned my pictures into less than 1,000 words.


I am ripe.

Ready to be picked

apart by the rough, gloved hands

of scrutiny.


On the front lines I hang

my heart on my skin

for people to peel,

piece by piece,

‘til they strip me down

to my juicy core.


Then squeeze as they may

but I won’t run dry

flowing with nectar

from roots to rind.


One burst of heat

Feelings fueled by flame

My breath expires

Then flicker, smoke and rain.

My heart grows tired

Of feeding dying flames

It's what transpired

Now only ash remains.

Your eyes were burning

Lips rushing

Our hearts were turning

A fierce yet fickle beat.

Burn slow

Simmer, glow

Dim light

Flicker, fight.


He steers me down the River of Peace

the sun goes down and the people retreat

So drown me here and let me glide 

down the River of Peace for all of time.

His words are hot as the Indian sun

they hit me hard, a kick, a drum

Then knock me out and end my fight

and leave me here 'til this river runs dry.