I’ve been writing things down for as long as I can remember. If you gave me an Etch A Sketch I’d try and make words. I’ve written on those paper menus for kids in Crayola, I’ve scribbled in text books in pencil and I’ve covered millions of bar napkins in ink. I’d write down people’s conversations on subway trains, in coffee shops and anywhere I’d go. Sometimes I’d share what I’d written with friends and other times with people who don’t know me at all and sometimes with both at the same time. I’ve read my words aloud to others, sometimes behind a microphone, other times in someone’s living room, I’ve even had words I’ve written read back to me by others, which is pretty trippy. I’ve heard them been spoken by a director and a group of actors at a table read. There was an incident in a telephone store in which some guy I’d never seen before started repeating some words I’d written back to me and there was a girl I used to see, who screamed some words I wrote back to me. She was asking me who the fuck the girl is with the blue eyes? I tried to tell her blue sounded better but that was also not the correct answer. I truly didn’t know what she wanted. I was confused.

Well, I’ll keep writing on anything around and this is a poem I wrote called “Bright Blue Eyes.” It’s about a girl whose eyes are actually hazel colored.


Her bright blue eyes

Wanted to open wide

Heavy from the dope

And holding on to some false hope

Lost out in the woods

Found in her old neighborhood

Trying to forget where she’d been

In a place to get clean

Pain became her pity

Sick inside the big city

She was losing weight

Feeling sick after she ate

Heart beating fast and slow

Behind her flickering glow

Talking to everyone

Until her voice was gone

Playing piano keys

Till her fingers bleed

A greyhound bus

And some false memory of us

Her bright blue eyes

Whispered goodbye