Here’s the thing, God. I am alright with death. Sort of. Really not so much. Actually not at all. Not a bad idea in principle. Too many people crowding limited real estate. Elbowing each other for a
Category: Poetry
The first thing I noticed when I returned home was that I had been gone for too long. My body has forgotten what it’s like to be cold, to sit in that tranquil veil of chill and lie oh-so-perfectly
It begins broken, like a lame horse. It begins seemingly suddenly, although the reasons are in the background, complicated, like a sneeze in sunlight or
Men in Early Modern England understood that their masculinitywas not only determined by their relationship to women, but alsoby their reputation among other men.
In fields of green, where life does sway, I find myself amidst the play, The grass beneath my weary feet, Whispers secrets, gentle and sweet. Oh, the grass, so much like me, Bending with the wind, wild and free,
She calls it lunatic light and perhaps she’s right.There is nothingbut chance, a slim guide of sliced lightpointing for a moment at a womanseen from outside through the window,using her wrist to wipe her foreheadover the steaming pots, the
A woman sits on the front porch – delicateseaweed hair, conch shell eyes, lips breachingwhales. She eats old notebooks, broken zipdrives, locks of hair that taste of salt and rose petals. The dog walks through her, the birdsnever notice.
Still blue pond waters held the old man’s face. A reflection in every timeline of a history slowly coming upon its end. Interacting, jostling shapes distorting features once youthful, once purposeful. Images reflected in the sun dancing on ripples
Before they knew sadness tasted of mud and flora, that loneliness was the color blue, they leapt with faith and arms so open the air could not fill them fast enough. There was always something out of reach, some
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