(XXIII)

My friend told me she liked my writing but is looking forward to when I write something positive. How’s this: Tonight the air barely moved. Hot, blue sky with jet stream highlights. I ate watermelon, cucumbers, popcorn; I watched my new friend dip a chip in salsa and spread a jelly across bread. The buildings…

(XXII)

I was in the front seat, the navigator’s seat, an atlas open on my lap. I felt as if I was going to vomit. Staring at the highway, the concrete, the fading yellow lines. Behind me the other six in the van muttered to each other. Jasen, my roommate, a balding gay man in love…

(XXI)

I have forgotten myself. I strain my memory and look into the sun, squinting, but it remains: who am I? Or who was I and can I get back there? It is a grand larceny, this life: you only understand it long after the fact. I look for ways to reach inside myself. I try…

coffee buzz, argyle socks

Looking up I’m staring past leaves, Branches, feeling better Than I look–leaned back, Coffee buzz, Argyle socks. From where I sit: Sixteen shades of green, A memorial hastily erected to The daylight hours, The meek expenditure of labor. One brick building Abutted with One brick building. I have beer on the mind, No matter the…

(XX)

I am left with little else than the isolating loneliness of my experience–but it does not have to be this way. It can, in fact, be the opposite. Through whatever wisdom I am able to accrue, I can share it with a person or persons who need it. I can empathize with something not yet…

a river and a cloud

It’s the finite fractures and ordinary fissures of the heart that last long after the heartbreak to remind you that love is both a river and a cloud. So drink of the water while you can and store up for the long, crazy days in the desert: facing worse than temptation, facing worse than succumbing– facing…

the 167th day

Who asked us to define freedom? To pluck at its string To make A chord of comfort; Freedom is not a word That should be used to Placate the masses, but make no Mistake, the masses are starving And will eat shit if that is what Is fed to them. But if we must, we must….

etymology

my mouth on yours is the word saccharine. my sigh is the word mystery. & what I give you is the word life. my retreating hand is the word home. my tongue is the word chaos. we are waiting to be read, you & I, to be painted, written and then to learn our etymology, our silence, the tenets of our…