It starts simply enough-- a new thing needs a new home so I scrape the pages and piles from the desk and wipe a rough rag across its face. Then the drum head perched rather precariously above looks like it needs the same attention. As I hang the hand-painted Reaper again on its nail a … Continue reading April 7 : Clean
Porchlight floats in soft through threadbare curtains crisscrossing our shadows with the kitchen's single-bulb glow while we stand slowly swaying, bare feet dancing in tiptoed steps, quietly on the crushed carpet. The stereo is low but the night is late and the music sounds like surround as he curls me against his chest before casting … Continue reading April 6 : Requiem
Shredded pages torn from yellow pads littered next to neatly stacked piles of "To Do," "To File," and "Too Many Questions." A rapid fire Thursday from dawn 'til the quiet moment in a can of cold pasta at my desk. Six deliveries, eight pallets of potting soil, twelve invoices, and one headache, lasting an approximate … Continue reading April 5 : Thursday
Fontana, 4 (Via County Road) It's still night when I cruise-- down the highway's broad curving brushstrokes of dark pavement and rock-strewn shoulders, my car click-click-clicking as I wait for a pair of headlights, shaking and yellowed, to lumber past me before I swing wide onto the county road. I look for the old white … Continue reading April 4 : Fontana, 4 (Via County Road)
(Mercury in Retrograde) "Chaos!" scream the Sky Watchers with their heads tilted back, throats exposed to the rooted knives of the human condition.
Typewriter Moon 