I am from here

Somewhere on the border,  where the cold and the dry kills everything that needs to be killed,  somewhere around here is where I’m from.  Where the weeds are lush and the grass is gone.  Where the cow’s milk tastes dirty and the breast milk tastes sad.  Where bodies are cremated, not buried, and you can

Some Thoughts on Love

Some thoughts on love  Some thoughts on affection  I work my way up into no expectations  And coax away the need for labels  When I stare at your hand resting across the dinner table,  And notice the fine scars across some shape of a palm  That could belong to anyone  But because it’s not anyone,

Birth of the Blue Heron

Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.    My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,    Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I? A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.    The mind enters itself, and God the mind,    And one is One, free in the tearing wind. “In a Dark Time”  By

Knead & Other Selections

Knead… the earth with rain, and let it fain the glaring lips  of the sun. Knead the earth. Pour your mortar among molded bricks and molten sand. Knead the earth, and erect your dwellings high. For like the shrub pierces the womb and sprouts from the face of Mother, you, too, shall wreak ruin. Reign

Home Alone

Would you like a sample? asked a woman in a uniform just past the store’s threshold, gesturing out a sample in a small white cup, similarly to how pills were handed out in prisons on TV shows. The rows of food reached nearly to the ceiling of the store, so high they required a forklift to be lowered down to the patrons. A child begged her mother for a sample of an unfrozen fried Wonton appetizer, which her mother steadfastly denied. Sure, Stacey said, accepting the small cup, finding it pleasantly crunchy with afternotes of carrot.

The Ice

We were born in darkness and hunger, and that was all we ever knew. My brother said we were like axes lodged in stone, impotent objects frozen in unknown space. Silence overwhelms us. Wind is a silent phantom, ice a silent beast. Sometimes it crackles with anxiety, sometimes it groans with hunger. Sometimes it terrifies me.

Nico Teen Love

She believed in Sundays. Neither God nor churches nor frozen family dinners, watching a rerun of America’s Funniest Home Videos circled around the television like seagulls to a piece of bread. No, she savored Sundays like a talisman that protected her from the unknowns of the upcoming week.