moon light night

She rolled onto her back and spread her hind legs. Her lewd poses were fine on a fat cat, but as I rubbed her belly I wondered if that’s what might have gotten her into trouble as a human. I tried to reassure myself that her indiscretions weren’t my fault

" No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: he may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing."--T.S. EliotDoes what for matter now? Here's the thing: everybody wantsthe same thing, they just want it different ways.…

T. S. Eliot's essay in the Times Literary Supplement of 20 October 1921 . . . is the critical essay in which Eliot deployed his term “dissociation of sensibility” . . .

Once it was raining. My hair was dripping rainwater as I sipped the coffee. Big deal. These are mundane details. Not to Krystal. She pounced like a mountain lion.

if I get electrocuted—maybe I’ll electrocute back

A few weeks ago I was sitting at my desk when I began feeling a sharp pain in the area of ​​my back just above the hip. I got down on the floor and lied on my side to alleviate the pain however I could. It lasted about ten minutes and slowly dissipated. Is this a kidney…

My letters are getting lost in the soup

Wherever she looks, Janey sees cats; staring in at her through the kitchen window, peering out from beneath cars, and eyeing her through hedges. With their sinuous bodies and merciless stares, they remind her of her sister. "Plain Jane and Scary Mary", the dog and…

Can you remember how we could each disappear completely. . . .

'You gonna throw it or what?'

"...people from ruined places come here armed with fat bikes and skis and other cleated things to conquer mountains."

Pieces that said shrug a shrug and then another and one to right with the eyes that squint and one to left with rhythm that never left. And piece after piece, after piece they stich themselves, née weave a tapestry that is the dance your very walk swayed

Cross here?

Ever since he left, I have been alone with the tree. We had planted it together. A green twig in the middle of the garden and a knotty stick, running around. Fingers and branches have grown. Very fast. Too fast. When he left, I sat in the shade. There I started writing, and…

My pain is a black pearl hidden in a clean shell.

Every time it happens, I think of Amber Heard and how hard you can be slapped without a bruise forming.