Pins and Needles
Here’s a scream that I’ve kept hidden inside drowned down with two aspirin to sleep through the night. Little waiting, little wishing, little screw me over while we’re kissing.
No sudden movements, keep your drink half full and blame it on the gin. New text: you avoided me last night. No, I didn’t. Yes, you did. But I didn’t see you there, baby. That’s hard to believe. Five years and I’m tired of pretending I care. But you did once? I did…and didn’t you? That’s a silly thing to ask. Well, let it go then. I’m trying but I...
Someone left the faucet running
Rain pours down for a day and a night, rushing down street intersections, washing up from storm drains with torn foliage and shiny candy bar wrappers. Evening drivers put on four-way flashers, hold fast to steering wheels with both hands. Jonathan takes cover under the eaves of a loading dock at the back of a municipal building. He rings the bell for service. Would you miss me, she had asked him...
The Last Will & Testament of Legalese
I give, devise and bequeath, in the event that I am dead as a proverbial door knob, thank the Lord and let us pray, all the commas I have amassed in my clause-heavy-handedness, again I give, devise and bequeath to punctuation-poor languages, whatever and wherever they may be, I not knowing them by name to my derision and my shame, as I was a know-it-all by trade, to be theirs, absolutely and...
La Dee Da →
The Nether Lands
Clasped hands and done in as the meadowlark rises so the owl goes to bed nodding off on a tree branch riddled with Dutch elm disease. Once a year, the woods wear a white dress, but unblessed. Under this grave cold courtyard Persephone wrings her aching hands and marks the days out in repressed rage and cinder soot.
My lord said to my Lord and this is what he said: I couldn’t stand it any longer they had me by the neck and no one cared that was the problem no one cared living or dead.
What I Shall Bring
I, one who has measured rage out in teaspoons and despair by the cupfull, will wash my tainted hands clean in the river beside where we’ve spread out a coat of many colors on green grass and soft earth, a full basket beside us, wine poured with liberality into tulip glasses and open mouths. I will bring one happy smile to our quiet picnic, I will keep it in my pocket, softly wrapped in white...
Blank spaces make gaps that need bridges my lovely man said nobody cares like I do. And there’s a relief, I thought cynically.
How May I Direct Your Frustration?
Never mind the call back press zero for the operator not that she’ll be any help para espanol oprima el dos etc., whatever, she’s painting her nails at the central desk downstairs blowing them dry and saying mhmm too many times to mean it.
First Interview →
Here’s my interview with Mark Lord for the fantasy story “Sparrows Falling.” First interview ever. Good times :)
Great High Mountain - Jack White (from Cold...
I can account for every hour and in those hours half the words, some phrases— no lyrics, rather “my strongest trials” “my latest sun” the rest a hum a tuning fork struck against the iron arm of a late night bus stop bench the resonance of which echoes through witching hours and a long separation.
Like I Keep Saying,
I look good in low light, she said Everyone looks good in low light, he answered spoiling the mood and any chance for romance with one cold, hard truth.
Glow Little Night Light
nicely prittle-prattle lady bugs in nightgowns honey suckers no matter I can’t taste seedy white musk or pomegranates if they’re plastic
Minor Thoughts and Major Issues
When each line you write begins those fucking sons of bitches and the words are drowning in too much ink, wounded by repeated slashings, I think it’s time to put the pen down and back away from the desk slowly.
Sister Golden Hair Surprise
And often her thoughts came by dragonflies savage and beastly and spitting up fire in cages, all monsters whimper a while with bloody fists pressed against red-rimmed eyes, until dry and raging bruised and battered they rise.
The Better Part of Virtue
Kingfishers’ feathers indigo pluckings no more the matter sunk low in the cushions pride shivered a moment with ballads forthcoming mandolin on the mountain too fond of cursing warbled death, played it closely in coy ponds, froze over kissed on four Sundays shrugged off an indifference all drenched in a wet rain left in a hurry the silence was humming lightning flickered with thunder he...