Welcome! I am a writer based in Wisconsin, but I grew up adjacent to appalachia. I am always available at my email address and love conversation (join the ne...
Two Hundred and Fifty Years Three lifetimes (actually when you put it that way it feels about as short as it should) That old quote about the average age of empires is right, and none of this is worth celebrating. I will cry to the sound of fireworks. There are plastic flags everywhere, mountain dew temporarily rebranded , and lest we forget the state is leading a campaign against itself and its…
I have no words but these. Naught found in the tonnes of ink, scratch, and leather drug along your Sisyphean trail to consume the world and all of its knowledge, its material; to puppet your Kingdom, O Dominus. I beg: gaze upon your poverty and own it; the last morsel to which you are entitled. Nothing more to the thief; the remnant of a man. Wealth a stranger, a visitor paraded around the manor…
Winter was hard this year. It was my first full winter this far north, and I wasn't prepared for: Months of real, genuine, cold weather The difficulty of commuting in ice and snow 2.65 minutes of sunlight on average each day Not being to open my balcony door because Beira forbade it The worst part of 1-4 was 1, 2, 3, and 4 at the same time. I am not a critic of most winters; I cherished the few…
Alright bud, let's set some things straight. You're what, twenty-two? Rain patters down the pole. The insects will surely drown. Not special. Never were. It was always a figment. Air brakes screech, then exhale; a battered husk opens the door. Ego is reserved for the demented. Your mortal puppet is leased. Fiver in the till, a little extra for the score. Soul seeps through your bone, its rent is…
October. Over the crow caws I heard him rocking forth and back on that old wicker chair. “something about the world” said we as petrichor and podunk surfed the air.
Was it comfort that I saw cross your eyes today? I felt it pass across my heart and through you, too. Maybe The little lean in your walk gave it away. You had me with that laugh: so vulnerable to the world. Yet I have no right in love to tell you.
Forty three: northbound on a fretless whim, wind licks chills down my spine. I stare my soul into it the boundless horizon line. The music loud so heart can hear it. My lips churn a deeply longing melody to play the dread away. Against the orange city haze I search for her wisps: the mother sky. She sings her loudest tonight. The parking brake crunches as do the fine grains underfoot. Now…
NOTE: The format of this poem is important. If you're viewing on a narrow screen, it may not appear as intended. Scroll to View The Cliff Over the chasm of life extends a narrow outcropping of anxiety, held just above the future. Souls of all forms and figures peer over the edge in silent fear. Some embrace the feelings, fewer leap. Most simply exist in its embrace. Taunted by the ambiguous next.…