An orphan dryer sheet falls from the inside of my pant leg in the produce section by the apples. Solving little mysteries makes me smile. Advertisements
When the second chance is really the fourth or fifth And you aren’t ashamed, but you won’t admit Lessons are learned as you go, They don’t wait at the end of the road. When you’ve lost the faith you thought was heaven-sent Don’t make it all about trying to reinvent The soul you traded in … More Road Verse
I want your Kevlar skin— evolutionarily engineered to banish the blades, the bullets, the bad omens. I want your ‘fuck the world’ attitude you sport the known, flawed self—unhindered by inevitable judgement no blood loss no bullshit no brown nose no nothing but grit and gums and safety pins because they owe you, not the … More Envy
Most of us do not remember the first time we learned our shapes. Until you budded into my life, I thought that I knew all the circles, squares, and rectangles – the rigidly defined personalities, those with a set number of sides, those who are predictable, parallel, familiar. I look back on the cast of … More Planes of You
“Good morning!” appears atop of the stream, a foolhardy greeting for a pile of memes posted by parrots petering political puff to make our mouths smile or cause them to huff. Oblivious addicts, under-the-bridge trolls, we stretch out our fingers for our morning scrolls.
I fell in love with a girl named Conviction. We are inseparable. When I walk, I walk with Conviction. When I speak, I speak with Conviction. Before her I was faithless, with her I believe.
The hours behind the sun stretch out to the curve of the universe then turn an inverted trek unto the shadowed earth, the space heater long gone out. Time cannot be heard in outer space. Its needle tip flashes to prick the fringe of fabric the patchwork quilt a chair-bound scientist wove with threads on … More Eight Last Minutes of Light
Walk beneath my canopy, aerial assaults pinging as you find a pace. In April’s warm mist your cheeks I keep dry. Hold me and I hold you, the infant wrapped in the folds of her mother’s arms. On clear days you hide me and I take comfort in the act. Hidden on the floor of … More Our Complicated Public Union
Yours is the letter I cannot will myself to pen. I fear the contents will be too vast, the envelope too weak to seal. I fear the words will be too heavy, the postage too expensive to afford. This ink is laden with the breach of silence that has been my years since you. Shouts … More Copyright Permissions
April brings out the sunglassed ladies who don their frames on an afternoon bus ride through South Boston. Yuppie chicks and their bug eyes and dark lenses hide vulnerable souls from interlocutors found on smart phone applications they meet over drinks. Polarized eyes aid the creation of plausible lies. Vanity is victorious. There in the front of … More Sunlight on the Number 9