(Lovely people -- please, no need to read this, it is so so late. I just wanted to post, happy just to have written something.) A LONG DYING When my mother was my age she had already been dying for a long time. Her lungs insisted on deteriorating. No points for...
November 2022 Writing
Underwater Haibun Near Garraf
My wife says every poem must include a feather just as every season and state has a bird. I could list here but last night we swam a storm. Lifeguards beckoned, waves passed, a pigeon had eaten all our potato chips. I returned to peel, slice, change the fryer oil....
I’m Tough Enough
don’t need to be told I’m beautiful to know it don’t need to be force-fed your version of love to feel it don’t need a beast of burden to claim my freedom don’t need to be woke cause I’ve never had a yoke don’t need to be fixed cause I’ve never been broke ...
Evolution of a Screen Shot
The exit stage right is a vacuum that sucks the performer into the black hole of artifice. Spirits are not sucked into it. For them, it is their entry into the present ongoing. For us, the viewer, it is on our left side, and exists as a nebulous space where scenery is...
Transit
1 Someone had x’ed out the eyes on his passport. His face was lost to him, borders. The bar was also a Laundromat and he watched clothes forever falling, the scent of things made clean. On television someone had scored a goal, a president was talking, something was on...
Beat Less, Less, Nothing
Beat-less, Less, Nothing I We were dancing. It was Boston and cold. The beat-less Talking Heads song didn’t help. It was his party and since he was sober now there was no booze — nothing to break an ice long ago broken. We couldn’t make the dancing work, so we...
The Book of Haiku
I must have been barely five years old, and Greg only three or four when we both knew we didn’t like each other. I’m not sure which of us decided that. He was my cousin, a year younger. We were rivals, that was clear, for the affection of his older brother. Michael...
Trash Boy Language
Trash Boy Language for Said Shaiye my relationship with language is complicated askew and always leaning burlesque like mother-son juju like fight-or-flight juju like leather-on-skin shrieking and squealing in a squalid bathroom nowhere-to-run bad juju...
November Writing
Here is where you can read all of November's amazing work!
A Long Dying
(Lovely people -- please, no need to read this, it is so so late. I just wanted to post, happy just to have written something.) A LONG DYING When my mother was my age she had already been dying for a long time. Her lungs insisted on deteriorating. No points for...
Underwater Haibun Near Garraf
My wife says every poem must include a feather just as every season and state has a bird. I could list here but last night we swam a storm. Lifeguards beckoned, waves passed, a pigeon had eaten all our potato chips. I returned to peel, slice, change the fryer oil....
I’m Tough Enough
don’t need to be told I’m beautiful to know it don’t need to be force-fed your version of love to feel it don’t need a beast of burden to claim my freedom don’t need to be woke cause I’ve never had a yoke don’t need to be fixed cause I’ve never been broke ...
Evolution of a Screen Shot
The exit stage right is a vacuum that sucks the performer into the black hole of artifice. Spirits are not sucked into it. For them, it is their entry into the present ongoing. For us, the viewer, it is on our left side, and exists as a nebulous space where scenery is...
Transit
1 Someone had x’ed out the eyes on his passport. His face was lost to him, borders. The bar was also a Laundromat and he watched clothes forever falling, the scent of things made clean. On television someone had scored a goal, a president was talking, something was on...
Beat Less, Less, Nothing
Beat-less, Less, Nothing I We were dancing. It was Boston and cold. The beat-less Talking Heads song didn’t help. It was his party and since he was sober now there was no booze — nothing to break an ice long ago broken. We couldn’t make the dancing work, so we...
The Book of Haiku
I must have been barely five years old, and Greg only three or four when we both knew we didn’t like each other. I’m not sure which of us decided that. He was my cousin, a year younger. We were rivals, that was clear, for the affection of his older brother. Michael...
Trash Boy Language
Trash Boy Language for Said Shaiye my relationship with language is complicated askew and always leaning burlesque like mother-son juju like fight-or-flight juju like leather-on-skin shrieking and squealing in a squalid bathroom nowhere-to-run bad juju...
November Writing
Here is where you can read all of November's amazing work!