Another Pile of Shit

I am not my poem, I am not my words,

I am a spiritual entity, manifested in physical form

My work is my excess, my glorious fodder;

my spiritual shit. Glorious though, some of this shit may

be, it is but a glimpse of the awesomeness of being;

the untold presence felt when near; the jowel shaking

laughter and the moments of joyous reverie; the frustrated

“what-the-fuck” when I, often, act a fool.

I am complicated, I am real, I am Kyle



I’ve been thinking here the past few days, I am of a mind to begin a foundation, a support network for those suffering from a TBI. Broader and more in-depth than any foundation out there, because I, suffering from a TBI received 14 years ago am lucky to have had the support i did and still do from my family.  I want to reach out to families and survivors to let them know that it is okay and while yes,  TBI is a largely unknown field as far as predictions and just knowing what  the human mind is capable of, I want to offer a helping hand and guidance beyond a voluntary support group ran mostly by people who don’t know and haven’t experienced an injury of such proportions. ’til then, adieu.