About

I’m a longtime resident of Provo–I enjoyed two years in the Tree Streets, and struggled through the next thirteen in the neighborhoods south of Center Street. I tell stories, and I make art. 

I don’t consider myself a prophet, but let’s discuss scripture. What are words on a page? Scratches and swirls? The dotted i and crossed t? The alphabet tells us how to make the sounds that convey our ideas to each other. The Good Word is the threat that knits humanity at the seams. It is the species’ best attempt to make sense of a chaotic world and assign it meaning. Whether spoken or penned, language is a human tool, and written word is symbolism. In the beginning was the word, so what is religion if not symbolic? We eat bread to represent something that it is not bread. A fluffy, store-bought loaf becomes the body of Christ each Sabbath Day.

Metaphor is transubstantiation, and poets love a satisfying metaphor.

I proudly wear the title “simple poet,” and I know what the title means. We’re weirdos striving to sculpt truth into twenty, elegantly carved lines. We show up in coffeeshops to read our work aloud, hungry for finger snap validation from strangers. Our pens cast spells and unveil vulnerability. We stand at open mics to bear our naked souls to the world through shared common language. The poet is a medium, the lens that focuses on a flickering frame in the film of earth-life. A poet is the messenger tasked with capturing truth, and metaphors cover our nakedness.

Those with ears to hear will understand what we mean.

Both poetry and scripture are an offering, and this blog is what I have to give. I see the world, I interpret. This is the writing on the wall. This is the word on the street.