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"
I am stagnant. My pen hovers over paper for an eternity of minutes, before I decide to write this poorly written sentence. I am stuck. I am stuck in mind, in-paper, in-making, in-thought, In-Life. It’s nonsense. I’m nonsense. Everything is a bullet to me and I dodge bullets. I should let them hit me, or pass me […]Read more "Explode"
Time rants and Time rages. Time commits and acquits in stages; all in a dog’s day of Summer. Time’s ideas are static, though his body frantic. His mouth, always in motion. Time gives and Time takes. Time makes love and flakes love; all in a dog’s day. Time wanders in wonder and then falls apart; […]Read more "Time Rants"
It was some time. Not the best. Not the worst. Just Time. And though there were times I knew I brought out the worst in Time, Time was, as Time is; incredulous, omnipresent and overwhelmingly ostentatious. I despised Time. Yet I had no knowledge or reason or clarity of what Time felt of me. I […]Read more "Tick Tock"
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"