hang up
the coathanger inside i am clothes waiting for a pose what arose by any other name? there is a game that we are playing where we stand at the side saying be something long lasting not the typical casting heavy dice and…
Tag: writing
Holding Onto The Stupid
A lot of my ideas come from stupid places. But you pause, look at it again, and you wonder where you might be able to take it and knock some of the stupid out of it. Sometimes the stupid is the genius,…
not the shadow
i will never tire of fuck yous to the imbeciles of hate who feel they can dish on the kids trying to shape the future from the cutouts of themselves dust gathers on the shelves i don’t want to be the shadow…
Momentum
Momentum is built with hard work. Hard work is built on regularity. You have to burn the candle at both ends. i think half of the stuff that I have done really has been done in the wee small hours, and by…
a reader
the need i read page-turners sentences that escape their boundaries slip through fingers enjambement slide i grab as many as i can stacked around, waiting i am never really contemplating not reading them half reading them each book marked i’m a reader,…
Monk E
The monk moved through the shattered temple, sparks rattling around his head like fireflies. He was mumbling something under his breath that context may have forced people to believe was a mantra or somesuch — it wasn’t … he was angry. War…
Caution In Didacticism
Do I sometimes err into a style of writing that is didactic? Surely. I know that I do it in poetry. Sometimes my fiction is a thinly veiled morality lesson. Can it be a problem? I suppose you might say that, but…
Time By Myself
If there were not some degree of isolation in my life — some part of me that doesn’t need too many people around — would I be doing the things I do? Would I be created and out together in the way…
carding
i am pulling lines out i would lose in the dissolution and pollution of collectivism i am a prism breaking the prison into shattered rainbows where the rain goes pools in the puddles that dream themselves mirrors i am a ball of…
mind mapped to world
my eyes do not see unkind to blind to unable to find you because unable to find self i built the shelf guilt’s silt inside unsure shore delivered by the tide building a damn to hold back the flow which drowns so…