Written Works.
Screenplays and Poetry
Screenplays.
People Watching
Short Film
Logline- In a bleak interrogation room, a single light shines on a perplexed professor confronted with queries surrounding a brief romantic encounter with a woman who may not have been who she appeared to be.
Page Count- 23
Postpartum
Feature Film
Logline- Allison and Bennett were the perfect couple until the birth of their first child sent their lives up in flames.
Page Count- 76
Poetry.
Rain Song
quiet flutter of turning pages
soft snores
the buzz of the heater
and the occasional creak
of the house settling
accepting its atonality
the low groan of the sky
as the clouds roll
followed by streaks of light
then the rustle of sheets
and down comforter as you
roll over in bed
droplets tap on the windows
and the roof
asking to be let in
but only greeted by their own rupture
accompanied by the air’s whisper
and the canon of impact
the winds crescendo
and the water follow
they hum their own duet
and trill between the
sky and the ground
their tempo waivers
the muted percuss of branches
as the wind shakes them
your joints snap together
as you get up and join the world
a sharp inhale
makes your nose whistle
your presence wines
along to the refrain
a duet turned madrigal
hold this moment at the fermata
all this noise
and it’s still so quiet
Where Sky meets Sea
disrupted only by the sun
which was there until it wasn’t
and the birds that never stayed for long
was a blue landscape
split by a thin line
the pure clarity of it all
from far away
could make you forget
the atmosphere was transparent
and you could stare through the opaque blue
to even more blue
and the ripples in the water
blurred together
becoming indistinguishable
underneath the heavy strokes
of color
carelessly flung and smeared
over the world’s canvas
or maybe he took his time
when he bathed our lives in blue
Notes on Drowning
To hold someone
is to know them.
I know you like nobody else,
like nobody ever will.
I’ve seeped into your pores,
soaked into every wrinkle,
and caressed every inch of your skin.
Tell me a secret.
But whisper.
My waves will roar over you.
I want to see inside your head
I want to swallow you.
I want to keep you here
until salt fills your eyes
and mingles with mine
then eats you away.
I’ll lap at your ears
and tell you to stay.
Yet every night you return to them.
When all I want is to embrace you until
you are as cold as me.
Golden Shovel for the Optimist
I’d tell you there are
people, human beings
who'd give anything, for whom
I'm unsure, but the sun
rises with them and is never
any dimmer then were they are going
like they were put here to shine
and to dull their spirit is never
an option, they’re going
to glow, to rise
to flicker and flare again
and they’ll never fade ever
not ever, not really
and you’ll forget that they’re not
even the real sun
“there are human beings for whom the sun
is never going to shine
is never going to rise again, ever, not really--
not the real sun.”
- from Franz Wright’s April Orchard