Vintage Words from the Back RoomThis little slurry was dredged from the fiery and rum-soaked memoirs of an ombudsman with an ample expense account on the medical convention tour sometime around the turn of the century. I sat outside all night in the Special Dark writing by a Bacardi Light. …
Some loose-leaf poetry from “Declassified,” a ghost’s story. in the still I must refine pull leaves from wind’s stream so to taste them in a curl on the sides little pieces to consider mid-dream in the still I refine in the still the still I must refine the witches dance …
He blew in the winduntil thenwherever it would take himhe leaned into her with abandon andloosed his leavesin her streamshe heard only whisperslong beforehe knewthere was a voice. He blew in the winduntil thenhe had many musesuntil he againran into Her and fellover on his sidebecause he saw beautylong beforehe …
I have all the times in all the worlds and I always have time for a rainy day…
When it was too late, “Freedom. It doesn’t exercise itself,” is what I wish I would have left on the counter with my tip, but the thought didn’t think itself until I was back in the truck where I could hear myself think. Dammit.
Imagine that you lost your sight.Imagine that you lost your pen in a fight.Imagine that you lost your pages in the night.Imagine living in a world that ain’t right.Imagine that you lost your ability to imagine.Now, wouldn’t that be the worst kind of fright?That’s what it’d be like.Villains are writers …
Focus. Work on finishing that poem. It grows. It shrinks. It breathes. Perhaps overthinks. Because that’s what a poem does. It is as I am. It lives its own life. She rights me as I write her but she won’t wait and I find the poem is poet and I …
She lives in these false little timesin her false little skinsso to stitch together a soulfor her ghost collecting them.
Before the wind picked up and moved on she thought she heard a voice, a new one remembering how to listen and how to speak. She found the boy on a blanket under a tree but he was not speaking to her. Not yet. He was speaking to the tree. …
