True Metal, Real Gold.

​Moon phases

Strong vibes resonating

Between the bricks and trees

Melodies married as one

The Den connected friends

Spirits on a whim

5 6 7 8 and then

A pact was born

Smiles laughter and passion

Beyond labels and judgement


Owl of the South


Silently Loud (II)

I would like to be photographed as a silhouette. So they will see all of me.

Every inch they will have to read. And every mile in their minds they will have walked with me.

Yes they rationalize to hold me in. I break the boxes. I damage floors.

My gut is stretching I suppose.

Call me Phoenix

Photography by Nilo Burkhart

Model: Keota Picou

Barter With Me

I’ll give you two cents

      If you can tell me what my deal is

We can trade our laughs

      And sign the seal with codes in oath

You may want to consider

      Whether you hold strength in your 


      Are only letters if you fear them

But I know you fear yourself

       A mastery of who

You have no zipper left

      Therefore each notch owns you

I will give you a dime

      Your words are perfect tens

Who cares if we’re right or wrong

      Who corrects minds through lineage
By Keota P


(I just need to let it out)

I believed that we were neighbors. As with my mail, I trusted him with my heart. I invited him into my home with his intentions of tearing it apart. My neighbor went AWOL. Not very shocking to me. Quite typical. What ever happened to chivalry? Maybe he packed it up with his bathroom box labeled “Fragile”. Much like We. Unfortunately, I was addicted. His lies were all I needed. 

In My Tree,


The Cerebration Of Us

I dance around the memories of the We that you use to be. We melted into a sculpture to be rested in heaven. A yin yang counting eleven and eleven. A wild fire burning from the heart in me. Not even the water from my eyes could wash away the flames at your feet. Your ghost whisper sweet falsities to materialize it’s perversion through me. But We decided that your spirit is still sweet. Ideas of forests with my yang I could see. Not every psychic is pure and no psychic can always see. Truth is stranger than fiction. Possibly stranger than the fiction laid upon me. Every human dies. Every human bleeds. Legacy is of grave importance. Power escapes as we breathe. In truth I stood. Tip toed serenely. In strength I stand with love everlasting 

In My Tree,