A tie-dyed patterned sky
bleeds on
A cracked, chipped sidewalk
strolls on
Happen on, my misplaced mate.

You will go far
You will drift
Always remember
The things we missed
The things we miss

Locked in folders
Lost somewhere
Revisit the first draft
Flawed perfection
Could not be

Remember this
Remember this

Do not remember what it is that we missed –
What it is we will miss.

Brandon Morrow

Brandon Morrow
Standing tall
On the mound
My favourite sun;
My favourite star
You are
Lights out,
Striking out,
With your
You have command
A firm grip
You are a
no-hitter dream
A rare double-play
You are an Ace
How I long to see
Your perfect game.


Walking this road listening
To a memory that whispers;
I’ve travelled quite a long way.

Windows down, air conditioning broken
Northern summer heat, cruise control steady
Bob Dylan foreshadowing
My best and my worst dream.

Light my house in flames
I’d still be okay;
I’ve travelled quite a long way.
And my memories still whisper.


Every dream of you I have
is a gift that I’ve been given,
to have that moment with you
when that chance has since been stolen.

Some days I wish I had your advice;
wish I wrote down all your stories -
Though I know what you would say,
I know I need that all the same.

It’s cruel that you’re not here;
I always hold you close.
I find that when I’m busiest,
is when I miss you most.

The things that I grew up with,
Are slowly going away.
Without these needed influences,
I hope I don’t go the wrong way.

I hope that you forgive me,
for the times that I was silent.
There is much I wanted to say -
but thought I’d have another day.

I look at what you’ve left me,
and it’s nice but makes me sad,
to think of you in items,
instead of what we had.

Tonight before I sleep,
I hope you’ll meet me in my dream,
so I can hug and tell you
that you still mean so much to me.

The sky is sleeping low tonight,

its napping hides the warm daylight.

The stealthy thief, it steals the heat,

from bodies cold from the release.


The weather, it speaks differently,

reciting pages of its diary -

of broken promises and neglect,

human nature: the suspect.

chipped paint

The exhausted dream now turned so raw
The fears through mud I thought I saw
And through that murky, shady clay
A light so light emerged with awe

Louder and louder I heard them play
All those dreams that went away
Now christened clean with tints of blue
Though they hid they did not stray

They retraced the murals I once knew
Fine artistry that was crude but true
Betrayed by walls that lacked white prime
A paint chipped story still held its hue
Now more appealing was this grime
An intricate effort one could not mime
To let it shift on would be a crime,
A dream eclipsed, trespassed by time.

black current,

want to try something new

all the colours of the rainbow

but she only wants you


a kiss between eyes

a caress with a smile

a brokenhearted silence

that shouts for a mile


tangled by your lead

yet ahead of your game

lead me and lead me

to form something tame


whisk the memories,

beat them raw

confuse and relay them

but one day they’ll thaw


defeat and lament

is what you will win

standing ovation,

for the web that you spin


the classic lines

the unfinished thoughts

the season has ended

no afterthought.

sliding doors

sliding doors,

trapping breeze,

sliding doors,

close with ease.


budge them open,

from the heat,

less and less,

the two sides meet.


the wood is chipped,

the glass is warped

this place is full,

of heated mist


the doors

don’t work,

so well

these days


the doors,

they creak,




working things




sliding doors,

don’t close on me.

back from hiatus

make something
of this life on loop

dance on broken asphalt
that was poured to be driven on
not danced on

memorize reactions
preludes that are really endings instead
repeat mistakes like they’re a good song
you’re a one hit wonder
and you get tired
but you also get awake again
too hot
too cold
again and again

wanting to be claimed but wanting to be alone
scared of your own heartbeat
because it sometimes sounds like footsteps
chasing you
trying to suffocate and paralyze you
steel toed footsteps
with an uneven rhythm

create moments for yourself
so you can discard them later
when something better comes along
different versions of better

just make it happen for once
one more shot
or you lose

(nothing at all)

what the graduate couldn’t say

This grimace smiles widely, but grimaces don’t smile do they? This frustration is refreshingly mirthful; how does it become laughable? Slide the worries away, down a black, rubber conveyor belt. But they always comes back again because a conveyor belt has no end. What are you a product of?