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Closing my eyes, I try to breathe it all in, absorb the divine presence that is supposed to be here. Faith by osmosis. I guess it doesn’t work that way.
God has to be here. Why else would these people be here? Why else would the congregation return w
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120921
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Forgive me father for I have sinned.”
“Tell me how you have sinned, my son?”
Lies, father. I have told lie after lie in pursuit of my personal gain. I have lied to my family, my friends, to thousands of people who desired nothing from me but the tr
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Surely someone as clever as I can hatch a plan that will make them pay for rejecting me. Ignoring my genius has a cost and they will pay the price.
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Most of us are just ordinary mutts with no gift for writing, nothing like Joyce James [or] any of those...
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This is why I’ve decided to assign myself a position in life similar to that of Stuart Sutcliffe with the Beatles.
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We go in gently at first, skimming over the first few swells and dropping speed, but then we pitch hard, tail over. The windshield holds. I think of Lily. I think of the baby. And I see my life.
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i’ve started writing these things down
on blue-lined notebook paper
or really anything i can get
my tendonitis-ridden hands on.
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For one glittering moment
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one day the words will form an order, one day the words will make a rhyme, one day the words will make a meaning
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In row nine, there was a lady on the window seat. Seeing the potential of space between us, I asked, “Mind if I take this one?”
“Not at all” she said as if she hadn't a friend in the world, apart from the poor bastard now sitting in seat 9D.
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Even music relies on what/
you know as music/
for its power to enthrall.
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The boy wasn’t raised this way.
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I find Vermeer and Bach and feel/
for a moment a shower of my own world’s/
prismatics.
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108364
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You borrow words from platforms you could never build
Borrow morals from a party gone sour
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She asks if I would like to join them.
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First published on www.humortimes.com
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Sunday, May 9, 1773 Sir — The world must at present be perpetual on the primitive state of human nature Conjecture The jealousy and envy boils over a dead weight strangled serpents in the Temple
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122610
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Either they got married in the church dressed in their mothers’ bridal gowns, gaudy and ancient dresses with off-white lace faded from years of hanging in the attic, or they snuck down to city hall...
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Sandy stood with three year old Josh, in line at the Santa Cruz County Correctional Facility in Watsonville. They were waiting to visit Tim, who she had met when she moved back to California after breaking up with Josh's father. If you call fleeing in fear…
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1644128
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Love heals. Lovers know this from the start, Yet they may not know with certainty What love is. Not that it matters especially When they find the magic within the power Of unfolding lust, Of redemption, Of unmitigated joy. There's a mutual…
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I have full bars on my iPhone, but no one has called, texted, emailed, IM'd, tweeted, Facebook'd, Tumblr messaged, or commented on my blog and I wonder if I am really connected, if my iPhone hasn't suddenly started to malfunction and I am really just all alone here,…
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63410
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The heart has always been on the sleeve Tonya really needed a heartShe was too young to knowNever forgetting itMichele found it in paradiseBut didn't know what to do with itWatched it fade awayBobbi could have easily had it foreverBut left it on the…
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we're not at war / with the world. We have papers.
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Don’t forget, I’ve watched the evil you’ve done to the lawn for years, not to mention the chaos you’ve made of the woodshed. Don’t you remember me showing you how to properly stack the wood?
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Mostly, though, reiteration of the old/
in an idiosyncrasy that strives/
to become fresh and fails
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It’s not just the mailman. It’s the logo on the mailbox down the street. It’s the uniform. It’s any man or woman in the whole unsettling profession.
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I didn't have the words. Something about how he looked in that moment: elderly and frail, a tiny square speck of shaving cream I'd just noticed on his jawline, and his mouth set in the same soft shape of hurt that I'd seen it in years ago---the best I co
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not otherwise employed, writing verse,/
line by tenuous line the substance of pulse./
―but no one collects unemployed verse:/
self-lacerations must yield blood, not ink.
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