obscure ode to the dead man’s hand

I always shoot from the hip
aim off a little bit
taking out people
I never wanted marked
for harm
nor death

taking action
but ending up with
I never could predict

still acting like a kid
as if I were still
the centre of the universe
still the special sun

been practicing my aim
hitting some bullseyes
more often than
slaying the felt sidelines
all part of the game
improving my hand
& eye coordination

still can’t see what
lies ahead
know better now
than to think I can
predict it

but at least now 
I see what’s 
around me
here in the present


I don’t forget now
where I am
& how blessed I am

or at least
I try my best
not to get surrounded
by the words
long ago said
or the deeds
long ago dead
all in my head


all the past
all in my head
kept well fed


letting go of
as well as one
really can


empyting the clip
trying to kill
dead ends
of regret


I am everyday
reminding myself
I am here

I am here
and far away –
out of the 
prism-prisoned past
we all sometimes
make cages of

Etsy & Me

Yep! That’s right! I did what I threatened forever ago. I opened an Etsy shop to sell all my available prints from that March 2015 print run. 

I can’t thank everyone who’s already bought one enough. You know you you are. Thanks so much. 

Also, special thanks goes to my sister Christina for being as always my special cheer squad and convincing me to order real prints of my digital ‘art’ as she calls it. My life changed, when I held them in my hands. No really it totally blew me away. 

A billion thanks to everyone who told me to sell them once they saw them. I’ve been showcasing them to all the peoples I’ve seen since March. And I’ve appreciated all the compliments & love & tips I’ve been given. I really am the luckiest person on Earth to have the friends and family I’ve been blessed with. You guys sure know how to make a dragon blush. 

*nose flare*

You want a print? Go get one. 

Either search ClubNettePrintShop on Etsy’s site (www.etsy.com) or click here
(I so wanted to write: You want a print? You can’t handle a print, btw.)


just to let you know

fighting through
my brain’s 
traumatic patterns
was hard enough
even when I was giving in to them

now that I’m usurping
their throne
skittering those
tragic rectangles
into rippling circles
breaking apart

now that it’s long past time
to reclaim my crown
I’m untangling things 
I’ve long run away from
& I feel exhausted
but lighter
death does that you know

a scythe cuts to the soul
better yet the bone

just to let you know
I’m doing okay
taking it day by day
keeping to myself

forgive me
for keeping out of sight
forgive me
for staying pretty much silent
for so long

even though
I’m doing nothing wrong
I’m just surviving
as we all are

forgive me anyways
just as I’d understand
if you’d chance to
take your turn

I’m just surviving
as we all are
I just can’t do it
within the glare

just to let you know
I’m doing okay
taking it day by day
bit fragile
but none the worse for wear

joy & a wry smile

a wry smile
been a while
my friends
at the ends
of a fraying thread
there’s a rainbow
sprinkling a little
white light
a fraction
like an iris
blooming with
a wry smile

there’s a shadow on the page

there’s a shadow on the page
putting the pen to pape
causes me pain

I’m tired of writing
about bleeding hearts
all I desire is rest

but the urge to write
burns my insides
and I must have ink on my palms
to feel accomplished

so I put pen to paper
but there’s a shadow on the page
I can’t escape

midnight black hood over the words
I can’t run away
it’s everywhere
stealing up 
each and every blank page

following me
stalking the blue lines
that remain untouched 

pour me a drink
so I might spit
right in its damn face
better than the useless tears
on the page

there’s a shadow on the page
and I’m sending it back to the hell it came from

I’ve had enough 
of bleeding hearts
and useless tears

give me a pen
so I can stab up the page
and ruin the darkness
that’s fallen over my words

no more shadows
for me
nevermore said the raven in my brain


dreamt of gas seared lungs and a drowning death that took years in killing me. woke with a shattered sense. reality in shards – pretty cut glass. reflecting. all I thought I was entitled to. all I was sure I was entitled to. for being alive. broken was the promise that was never made. laid before me. writhing in its undeath. have we lost that memory? held up so preciously? as we bathed the world in blood? there is no guarantee. no entitlement. for being alive. everything is a gift. somewhere we’ve forgotten, I think. we know the lines. read them a thousand times. but do not know them in our hearts. all to life is love and there are no guarantees. so each brought to self: is not to own. is a gift: to be treated as such. less a mirror to what you feel entitled. empty lies
those whispers preach; albeit fervently. 


my heart’s so heavy
feels like
it’ll sink right through me
nestle into the soil
grow deep roots
in the black, rich 
settle in
warm wombed
maybe bloom again