We find ourselves alone since the day we're born, so we seek someone to sew sutures in the places where we're torn.

Arg! Saturday! Going to give Arielle a call at some point to see if she'd like to hang out today/tomorrow, but other than that writing poetry.

The 2nd manuscript I've been working on is entitled "He made his last mistake" I've structured it in ways that I find to be very innovative to modern poetry collections, and I'd say I'm about 20ish poems off having a 150 page book. Regardless I'm very pleased how its progressing, and want to send it off to my mother for editing soon!

This is a completed poem from my book.

Seattle to Chicago

We met on the northern train
line of the Amtrak, somewhere in
North Dakota, where very little happens.
There we left a smoldering piece of us.

But I was hard to get; even after
our meager conversations and your fruitless
attempts to woo me, I was still running
off to the concessions cart for a midnight snack.

The only thing we had in common was the desire
to be up in the middle of the night, aimless.
We would wander with our four legged brains
out into the large windowed box cars.

Nothing was at all interesting then. We watched
the behemoth dirt mounds of North Dakota pass.
The clouds and stars were something cliche, like
pillows or glow sticks pushing against each other

nightmarishly, pleading for us to stay awake.