Right here.
Do it now.
On her knees,
She raised her ass.

Fuck me.
Fuck me hard.
Like a dog,
In the grass.

Condom in the grass. Asheville, NC

A man,
A dog,
And a truck.

A poetic
Opportunity,
To use
The word fuck.

Man and Dog in Truck. Venice, CA

Life.
What's the deal?
Slip,
On a banana peel.
Feel zeal?
Squeal?
Whirl,
On a ferris wheel.
Imagined or real?
Stand.
Kneel.
Either way,
Fate sealed?
Life.
What's the deal?

Ferris wheel. Santa Monica, CA

Remember when
Gumballs,
Were just one cent?

And people didn't
Have BLOGS,
As a way to vent?

Gumball Machine. Culver City, CA

A Malibu sunset,
Or Guelph sunrise.
Gramma's pies,
Or sweet grass highs.
Poutine fries,
Or lovers cries.
Live it all, for this,
I surmise:
He who truly lives,
Truly never dies.

Malibu Creek State Park. Malibu, CA

A glass of water,
Sugar and tea.
What's the difference,
Between it and me?

We're made of the
Same stuff, truthfully.
Does it ponder,
To be or not to be?

Do I drink It?
Does it drink me?
Either way, it ends,
With a good pee.

Glass of Iced Tea. Culver City, CA

Be still,
Still,
Still as
Canyon dirt.

Be still,
Still,
Still and
Acutely alert.

Be still,
Still,
Still or
Hawk dessert.

Cottontail rabbit. Malibu, CA

Daily
I Dream,
About
An Airstream.

Sights to
Be seen,
Adventures
To glean.

From the
Urban scene,
I do wish,
To wean.

2006 Airstream. Malibu, CA

Without
A dream,
The heart
Will sink.

So dream
In black,
White, blue,
Or pink.

Pink Cadillac. Venice, CA

Life: like
Being
A bubble.

So make
The best,
Of the worst,
Until
Ya Burst.

Bubbles in sky. Santa Monica, CA

How do you like,
Your eggs?
Boiled? Poached?
Fried greasy?

One? Two?
Maybe three?
Sunny-side-up?
Over-easy?

Scrambled well?
Soft 'n runny?
Some find that,
Quite queasy.

Writing a poem,
Like cooked eggs,
Some hard, some,
Easy-peasy.

Three fried eggs. Malibu, CA.

Tuesday's
Treasure:
A temple,
Hindu.

Nestled,
Safely,
In a Canyon,
Malibu.

I wandered,
Softly,
Per request,
Without shoe.

Incense,
Burned sweetly,
Under,
A sky blue.

Magic awaits,
Around,
Every corner.
Who knew?

Hindu Temple. Malibu, CA.

The following is an excerpt from the book I am writing entitled DON'T JUMP. It's a memoir about my experiences with mental illness, being suicidal and working at a suicide prevention center.

MY SWEET FUCKED-UP LIFE
Suicide prevention counseling: What could have possible prepared me for that? My life. That's what. My sweet fucked-up life. I know suicide. I know what it's like to want to kill myself. I know it like I know breathing. It's a part of me. A part of who I am. Coded into my DNA. I am not cured I never will be. That's because suicide is not a disease. It's a symptom. A reactive state. A feeling. A desire. How do you cure a thought? Some may disagree, but I think it's a pretty fucking normal to think about killing yourself. To be? Or not to be? They are two of the world's most famous questions. I don't want to kill myself today. Maybe tomorrow I will. For today I have put the thought on hold.
One can't really be suicidal. That's a momentary state. A split second. A spilt of a split of a split second. The flash right before the bullet smashes through your skull and splatters your future against your white linen sheets. The flash right before the last ounce of blood drains out of your brain your heart your soul. Drip drip drip.
To be suicidal means to be Dead. Period. Technically, and more accurately, the term is Parasuicidal. Having suicidal thoughts. Idealizations. The contemplative state of spattering those linen sheets. The state of being so sad so fucked up so devastated so overwhelmed so guilty so heartbroken so hopeless so fucking angry so very fucking angry so very very fucking fucking angry. So everything. So fucking everything. So fucking nothing. So nothing. So fucked up it hurts to breathe hurts to blink hurst to swallow hurts to piss hurts to shit hurts to wipe your ass hurts to brush your hair brush your teeth. Flossing is right out of the fucking question. Fuck extra whitening. Fuck Crest Fuck Close-Up Fuck Colgate Fuck all you toothpaste makers. Fuck you all.
You just want to want to want to want to die die die die. Take that floss and wrap it around and around and around and around your neck until you die die die die. Choke the agony out of your head. Make it go away make the pain stop make it fucking stop. Now! Right fucking NOW. Make it stop now. Now Please Now. GOD make it stop please GOD you motherfucker make the pain STOP. Go away. Far , far away. Please please GOD MAKE IT FUCKING STOP> STOP>STOP> STOP>>>>>>>>>>>
I get it. I so fucking get it. Sometimes I wish i didn't get it, but I do.

Marshmallows on table. Malibu, CA

My world's
A little calmer,
In my orange and
Blue tent.

One door,
Three vents,
Lots of zippers and
Poles, bent.

My bedding:
A blanket,
Fluffy duvet and
Pillow, lent.

Included:
Fresh air.
Made by God and
Heaven sent.

Orange and blue tent. Malibu, CA

The mouse,
Hides.

The raven,
Seeks.

The raven,
Glides.

The mouse,
Squeaks.

The mouse,
Scared as shit.

The raven,
Readies to hit.

The raven,
Dives.

The mouse,
Hides...

Raven in flight. Malibu, CA

Some poems,
Are Long.

Some,
Short.

Kayla. Culver City, CA