A pretty little dove flew by my window
but it was only a flash of a glimpse;
Etched in my memories is the most beautiful sight I ever did see.
I sought out this dove
and found she was delicate in nature. 
Pure and heavenly; the dove is perfect
So I put her in a cage. 

But my dove did not sing
and her feathers began to gray.
Right before my eyes, she turned into a pigeon. 
It was then I realized, 
That such beauty can not be caged. 


The Hermit Painter


The hermit painter lives alone

without a friend to call upon

or a love to call his own.

He prefers this solitude to create

piece by piece.

Yet despite his single life the canvas is still white.


The hermit painter, he hasn’t felt in quite some time.

No need, urge or desire to occupy his mind

Not joy or pain, he has nothing to convey

and his apathy shows on every canvas that remains white.


The hermit painter has not seen the sun. 

His skin pale his hair white

And his eyes know not light

but what little light would suffice

from a candle by his side.

And in absence of proper light

it’s no wonder the canvas remains white.


The hermit painter has not seen the world.

He has not heard music in decades,

nor has he read literature in years.

He knows nothing of the new,

and has forgotten everything that is old.

Perhaps if he stepped out into the world

his canvas would not still be white


The hermit painter has hundreds upon hundreds

piles upon piles;

paintings, sketches, ideas left untouched all white.

And had it not been for the absence of light,

a chat with a friend, a love to relish.

A melody to his ear or an interesting story

the hermit painter might have seen a canvas painted in color

and not a canvas painted in white.


The hermit painter falls ill.

On the final days of his life he does not paint.

Instead, he goes outside.

He hears the laughter of children

and it fill his with infectious joy.

He hears music; urban, classical

sensational new age foreign sounds he’s never heard before.

Millions of books; he reads every story he can.

He plays chess with a new friend in the park,

and takes a chance on a an ageless beauty

sipping coffee alone in the afternoon.


Everything he’s been missing

the hermit painter decides,

he must, he must, he MUST!

give one final canvas a shot,

and indeed it would be his greatest work of art


He sits and stares,

and suddenly it begins to appear

as if all on it’s own, the canvas painted itself.

A culmination of the hermit painter’s life.

First came the solitude,

every encounter and opportunity missed.

Then came the apathy.

Following, the lonely candle by his side.

Every note he had never heard,

and every word he had never read

they too appeared magically on canvas,

and it was indeed his greatest work of art.


The hermit painter now gone from this world

left behind for all to see.

And from every corner of the earth

they gathered where the canvas was housed

and took in the message the painter left behind

on his single greatest work of art.

A blank canvas hangs; the painter entitled “white”.


“…Of course, how could I forget the three football jocks that corned Eric in the bathroom during third period. Unaware of my presence in the first stall, where I often slept during trigonometry, I could hear Eric’s voice and three others. Then the sound of hard pounding on meat and flesh, the shuffling of feet from under the stall door. I heard Eric gasping for the air that escaped his body with each blow, and the assailants yelled “Kick his faggot ass!” Then, their foot steps walking away, the bathroom door shutting, and silence. I stepped out of the stall and Eric looked at me with swollen eyes, blood dripping from his nose. He lay on the bathroom floor helpless clutching his side where had been repeatedly kicked. I didn’t stop, or return his stare. I simply washed my hands and left.”

Legalization Eve

The Dish

Tomorrow, legal marijuana goes on sale in Colorado:

At 12:00 a.m. MST this Wednesday, the first legal sales of marijuana will occur in Colorado. Other sales will follow shortly in Washington state. How will this actually work? Colorado has been scrambling to come up with a legal architecture for this new industry, and the results look more modest than many expected (e.g.: There will be a very limited number of distributors, it can only be used at home rather than in cafes or large parties, etc.), but there are some creative entrepreneurs at work already. But what will this look like in a few months? Will marijuana lose some of its stigma? Will it lose some of its caché? Will usage actually increase substantially, or are the people who would use it already finding ways of getting it? And, perhaps most importantly, will Colorado’s and Washington’s experiences end up…

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Without mind you say words. 

Tear and rip  my heart, 

those words are like knives.

Sharp blades, dull blades, 

each one stings the same.

Without mind I regard. 

the assault received, 

I am withdrawn


Without mind you act.

Fear and anger arise

and you, wild thoughts and all,

perceive so wrong

Without mind I listen. 

The noise you make I hear. 

though words you speak not clear. 

And I perceive anger and fear. 

Without mind we lose. 

The barrage of feelings and emotion,

unwise attention is the cause, 

manifestation of the rest. 

Without mind we are caught, 

in the struggle to end all suffering

where it always begins.

Without mind.