IMG_1502 St Peter's Cathedral, New Orleans.jpg

My name is Lukas. I believe that life is photogenic and worth sharing. I believe that poetry is for people like me, who enjoy stories but have short attention spans. So I take photos and write poems about the things I see, combining them to tell the best stories I can.

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@SheetsToTheWind

This is the wilderness, and our posture sets like the sun
leaning into other days, toward fire rings and conversation.
We dip and fall, stir into each other’s futures, dilute the mundane
or drink one another black
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Sheets-to-the-wind.com
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You hold your breath
like spring to summer, the passage of time
in wild thoughts.

We peer over ledges, lift rocks
sit on stools, bumping elbows
to find our range.

I wonder how you fill the wilderness
in your mark, in the prints you make,
the songs you sing to yourself or no one at all.

Tell me of the spaces
between seconds and moments.
Tell me the time you listened

for God in the radio. Any God.
Tell me if your city lungs send oxogen
in the same way capillary streets
wind and tangle and deliver
us into new places...because even during yoga
I forget to catch my breath.
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Sheets-to-the-wind.com
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Brown Eyed Girl

#boxer #boxerlove #itsadogslife

Moons set and dance, fall to times like these.
Over and under each twilight glance
The thought comes to mind:
We wish you were here
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Sheets-to-the-wind.com
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I can’t remember the weather
but we have weathered much.
the forecast lies in our pockets
but neither reaches to check.
We split the check, sometimes
and the time ticks on wrists, turning us in when late nights become
early mornings.
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Sheets-to-the-wind.com
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Accidentally tested the weather resistance of this beautiful thing today #mirrorless #luckystraps

The stories we tell
turn yellows and reds, seasons to dusk
our days to purple as we follow setting suns
and the lines of a face grow
deeper, longer
to show where it’s been.

A voice may crack or swoon
or bravado in the shadow of its plot,
fill pockets with change and echo room
to room well beyond it’s life.

Your grandfather’s coins
may buy you coffee long after
his passing. Those stories like colors
swaying in fields, following suns
drinking the rain
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Sheets-to-the-wind.com
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I wrote a sentence and called it a rune.
Sometimes poems are incantations
whispered over, and over coffee
and keyboards, the mornings
we encounter to and from other days
to save our moments
burned hot or cold from the pit
in our stomach, the light in our eyes.
We scratch our marks into the widest trees
knowing they will heal over
or be re-carved into Earth,
protection lines, laugh lines
runes
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Sheets-to-the-wind.com
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Sheets to the Wind is a philosophy. In nautical terms, sheets can refer to the the ropes used to secure a ship's sail. Having these sheets loose could cause the ship to rock about, drunkenly (hence the term "three sheets to the wind"). For me, Sheets to the Wind entails a way of life. It’s subjecting medium and muse to the breeze, allowing one’s self to sway. I do this simply for the purpose of going there, doing that. Sheets to the Wind is a life lived.