Sometimes, when penning chatty love-notes to his girl, he would adopt witty little aliases: Dustin de Wynde, for example, or DeForest Primeval; something sufficiently far-fetched that she would know that it was really him, yet conferring a gratifying degree of obscurity against third-parties. He suspected (for books had made him shrewd) that small towns and…
The world is filled with accidental pinhole cameras cracks in doorways holes in fences points where light is channeled, flipped, and abused to confuse our secrets with our proclamations. We live in these pictures illuminated by undetected images. Entire other lives developing, shining around our corners, the light I use to read your mood. A…
What if we could get rich From experiences What if our time In exotic places Or even a walk in the woods Counted as valuables Raising our net worth in joy We could display Our adventures like jewels Laid out on a velvet cape My trips to Italy Could have bought a house My bliss…
The tumor the size of an egg yolk in my father’s stomach was not the same as the astrocytoma on my mother’s cervical spine, which differed still from the adenoid cystic carcinoma on my husband’s parotid gland. My father’s collapse, treatment, remission, recurrence and resignation followed a sequence unlike my mother’s mysteriously painful slide into…
Turn left at Farewell Street, Abandon the GPS, Lose your keys, Your head, your life, Your car, your passport, Credit card, bank account, Tax return, iPhone, Your wallet, your shoes Any plans, abandon All of them, let go Of sadness, so, the past is sad. Go left on Farewell Street, Drive past the silent graveyards,…
the longest tail I’ve ever seen tireless to dip and sometimes dip again underbelly 57 sauces skidsteer backalley junkies to front porch peeling news delivered daily fresh still fresh even ripe fresh curves between another set of paran(thigh)ses you heard this one? he has but he finds your telling fresh fish caught in a Uist…
In algebraic circles it spirals down. What is the derivative of a square? Well, you see, it must be Hamlet’s monologue, and the skull, obviously the skull is the answer because there is nothing quite like the beautiful void of an empty eye socket after a good murder. Ah yes, murder. It continues as we spiral…
There’s a guy selling magazines down on the corner by the bar it’s full of words like denim and grease words we know but don’t love they tell our story, the poetry of us. The fat man in his ren fair outfit he laughs at raccoons he knows what we know keep surviving and keep…