Volume of Life
Life needs volume controls. If you’ve ever had an eight year old, been near an eight year old, or been an eight year old, yourself, you know exactly what I mean. I’ve tried the TV remote, mashing the button, repeatedly, while pointing its blinking red light at the boy, then ...
Ended with a “Y”
we didn’t have a lot to talk about still, she talked and I listened making a joke now and then when things got too serious she liked that-- I'd known I wasn’t the only one and maybe not even the only one that day but I took her anyway my ...
Poetry is for the birds.
I came upon the good fortune to court a lovely redhead. “Let’s have coffee and krimpets at three”, she said. I replied, “Three is a splendid time for our date. If I spread two and four wide, thereupon, I shall find three, laying juicily in wait-- a target in which ...
wheresoever
Lonesome winter, she leaves us now, love-- not banished, tho departed-- left to find that which’d been whispered, those frozen-breath promises, those crystal-glow wishes, found drifting upon her own bitter gales-- fled this white stillness, of her chilled and obstinate pith-- only a pale-gown memory persists, fluttering, within slow-spinning shadows ...
calling for some rain
"They're calling for some rain." "We've had our share this month." "Yes. But we need it, after the summer we had." "We barely got any rain at all." and we both looked to the sky for its promised answers for signs of an arrival I've never wanted to talk about ...
Corduroy Boy
I awoke from my nap to find that the neighbors on either side had put up so many Christmas lights that my house, in the center and without a single light yet, looked like an expectant runway at an airport. The boy with the musical corduroy pants was hungry, so ...
a welcome home
This world of word’s drunken-stagger inadequacy and misconception’s begging-orphan poverty is the loneliest I’ve ever known; tho with batting eyes, and a silken show of thigh, she welcomes me home ...
truthful love
Next time, bring your wine. Drink with me with til we’re sloppy-- drunk with truth and love and hate. Say all the things we daren’t say. Laugh, cry, beat my chest with your fists. Then make hard, truthful love to me. Gnash your teeth. Take as you need. Feed ...
one shall come
All is forgiven, ye Sirens. Tho I’ve black memories of my drownings, I’ve no hostilities held-- where once you’d been. Still, it’s someone else’s turn to be loved; sing your song, sing your song, one shall come ...
Furies
She’s a percipient mind-- brilliant, ravenous, twisted, and just; I’ve watched its Furies disassemble a facsimile offered, stripping the carcass of even its marrow, its falsities discarded, leaving only my huddled madness, which had always been. When this was written, it wasn't entirely true-- the biggest part of who I ...