Nice Guys Finish Last
Sure they do. But here’s an idea you little bitch-of-a-man, and I mean that in a tender, warm and giving way, all pink hearts and white roses mhmm— stop self-proclaiming your niceness which is a poor excuse for an adjective anyway, bankrupt in a still-lives-with-mom sort of way and colorless in the look-at-my-muscles no look-at-my-brain exchange, the lesser cousin of plain pleasant...
Book For Sale →
My novel “May It Be” is available through iTunes and Blurb Books. Preview available at the website listed above. Short description: “R.M.S. Titanic. 1912. First-class passenger Mary Catherine Ashley is losing her eyesight. Blindness is inevitable and mind-crippling headaches are becoming more frequent. She knows that this trip across the Atlantic might be the end of her sight as...
Just Call Me the Patron Saint of Broken Men and...
Hey! Listen now, I’ll only say this once. I’ve got a splitting headache and two tickets to the end of the world. You can come if you want, but I’m not paying your way and I’ll need a drink or something to keep me in good spirits.
Oh my darling, oh my darling, my heart breaks as you take your long journey.– Doc Watson & Rosa Lee Watson
The problem with getting what you want is sometimes just that. The whole thing comes down to one stitch in the fabric, and uneven as that seam came out the colors will bleed together. So torn, so taken, your needle breaks time and again. Is this what you wanted? Is this what you really wanted?
Give me a blossom that blooms in my hands all blue and white petals that wilt on command.
The dripping haze, so cloud soaked and sopping I’d rather not face the day—if that’s what this is, sun so absent I couldn’t say, not for sure anyway but best start waving off this foggy, humid morning digging through a hundred shades of grey to find an hour worth the waking.
The difference between highs and high places
If I had a dollar for every man who said, I bet you smoke weed like a chimney as I lean off a porch railing or stand on a balcony edge arms outstretched balanced and eyes half-closed in ecstasy declaring the world for poetry and lime juice among other things. Well, I’d be very rich indeed.
"There is one spectacle grander than the sea..."
apoetreflects: “There is one spectacle grander than the sea, that is the sky; there is one spectacle grander than the sky, that is the interior of the soul.” —Victor Hugo
Matter of Fact
Oh, deal this out. So far she can’t make up her mind one way or another but she swears he said something profound once. Given, as he was, to prolonged silence, diatribes sloshed from his well-shaped mouth like lukewarm water when they came and came often. To his mother, he might have mentioned sweet things, about birds and babies, angel wings and a dalliance with the girl next door. Sex and...
Bride down on the church steps fell flat on her face after two years of bliss and another two of hate.
There’s a sudden chill in the air, a gloominess that’s settled in for the summer. No one talks about glorious tomorrows anymore. It’s all sensationalism, all news of disease and pestilence, calamity and death.