SMS: a short poem

Was that sassy?
My sassy SMS translator
was not turned on.

Streets in Cambridge


Is not it profound how music and smell
provoke memory?
Talk unto a memory
and be ridiculous,
the past is no place to live.

It captures me and tortures me 
because those faces I cannot see,
those ears I will never have
and their company never keep. 

Regret. The paths back exist
all too vividly without form
but without function too,
it never gives in.

Broken buddha: creative writing after a late night discussion with a teenager

You could judge, we all do,
but you'll probably be wrong.
I judged. I got it wrong.
Flaws make the shape.
Learning is imperfect, classrooms aren't.
Dreams make the life, make the path.
Wisdom is earned. Find trouble,
look for the wisdom. Not surely,
but bruises are brown, purple, red, and yellow.
Winning is just golden.