I drove my mother’s car; A manual transmission, 1989 deep-purple Volvo station-wagon. I’ve been driving for ten miles. The kind of miles that take forever because you’re on a two-lane county road with frequent and unnecessary stop-lights for the majority of them. Trisha sat passenger. She knew this wouldn’t be a short drive. Through trail […]Read more "The Drive"
How do I comprehend Love Gifted by someone so beyond my worth; And yet you deem me worthy. Now worth is what I see.Read more "Acceptance"
Cracked knees Crooked heart Black lungs Bruised Start Broken teeth Weighted feet …Yet he remains in love with me.Read more "Yet He Remains"
“I think as an artist, to become an artist, you have to love yourself so much. Then, you have to find someone; You have to find someone who loves you even more…” He said after I questioned love. And I thought. I sunk in my thoughts. Thought upon thought of all the things that I […]Read more "Love and Art"
The world moves in rhythmic Time. Everything has a pulse, a tempo, a beat. Like a heart. Your heart. I found mine skipping along side it with my hand in yours. I felt it in your fingertips. I heard it upon your chest. I crawled inside. I danced with you. Though I was out […]Read more "Rhythmic Time"
I write romantic things for privileged women who call themselves girls much passed their girlhood. They read with me. They stare at the make-up on their faces. We are made up and lined. Every day, new lines. Crooked lines. Curved lines. Lines lines lines. I pray to whatever god I believe in that day for […]Read more "Romance Novelist"
Time swiftly navigated the cold tile floor of the room they called mine and positioned himself at the side of the bed that was assigned to me. He adjusted his oval reading glasses and from his hip revealed a pen. With a click of the hammer, Time readied his instrument and prepared for notetaking on […]Read more "Time’s Iris"
I sign another line. This time, I do not think about the hoops and swirls and dots. I don’t stop to break a stroke. My hand is stable and my eyes are dry. I flip the paper. I sign another line… …It was a long time ago. When I was young, younger than you are […]Read more "I am Christmas Morning"
I walk the edge of the crowd watching for cracks in the pavement like a child. And like a child, I stare at the ostentatious drunkery that dances around me. I convince myself that I am within myself and outside of everything else. I tell stories in my head about the people I see and […]Read more "Hope for Love is My River of Slime"
I listen as he talks. His hands move in sync with his mouth. His fingers and his voice dance together in perfect modulation. His wavelength is hypnotic and while he is not talking to me directly, I am transfixed enough to forget temporarily that he has trained himself to perform this wonderful manipulation, “Diane claimed our program […]Read more "Between Men"