Category: Writing

Picked up a DJOn her way to the partyFiguring he’d do wellFor dinner and dessert.Recited the necessary opinionsTo maintain each other’s favor,Stopping for protectionAt the closest corner store.No Wi-Fi requiredTo hook up to the servers,Using minimal dataAnd AI search results.Well, it was pretty damn good for 7-Eleven,Not a bad boost for discount coffee beansProving that

last night you asked me,drowsy, and muffled by the pillow,if I believed in God.I said yes but I didn’ttell you that my god lookssuspiciously like you.complete with black choppy bangsthat fall over thethird sparkling eyein the middle of her forehead. in the morning you told methat I’d better bring bug spray to workin an accidentally

breaking the backyard silence a flock of crows finds breakfast as a squirrel hustles by   two bumble bees compete with each other on a dandelion blossom for a morning treat   a chipmunk cheerfully runs after its mate through the grass enjoying the chase   i sit revering this solitude before my morning shift

This Decemberduring wide nightshemmed by blackness,I remember roses.Pink yellow red violetthose satin blooms of June.We must wait six monthsbefore seeing blossoms,touch their brightnesscrush their scentwith fingertips.Now there are onlyebony pools of winter’sheavy ink of darkness.Dipping into memory ofmy lips touching petalstantalizing sweet buds.My body longs for softness.I glimpse brilliant faces offlowers right before me as

There it was: the find!Pretty pickaxe leaningagainst faded garage wall amongmany worn out tools ofrural work: dig—saw—cut—haul—drill—rasp—plane. dirt—steel—lumber—trees,Muscles taut:push—pull–lift—breakup—smooth—sharpen. Metal head extended,a ready-set-gowoodpecker,feathered handle smoothed byyearsmonthsdays’ effort toget that something done. Lift, admire:future ease of breaking throughdecades-packed driveway dirt.The power of pickaxe,the line of farmers, foresters, miners behind me,bending forward,moving me forward. The work gets

The child open, curious,smitten by snail, noIndy 500 here justidle, slow, spiralling ofslime and camouflageand, the best,housing is free. Aha! There’s oneandanother andthis onetiny and perfect,look! look! Tippytoeing on paths littered withweed piles browning asquack weed deepens, lengthensluxuriously assunflowerdips lower, languidly. Curious child still searching.Hummingbird turns tail fromblossom and feeder towinter wherever(may it always havenectar

Two people coming together Flirt with hurt for joymix the curves of our personalitiesour nerves wet with weatherskin peels scarred and healingmuscles move through the ebbs and flows of our differenceReshape our swirls of selfToMeltMouldAndMixCarving them to fit as close as atoms allowawkwardly stepping forwardputting the surface together Two separate puzzles, paper crinklesCollage  two people

You’re a human collage I’m an emotional miragewe’re a masterpiece worth makinglet’s find a paintbrushpaint what we are feelinga beautiful picturea mixture of our coloursPicture perfect We were just a polaroidfast but nostalgicworth keeping in the photo bookfor when we lookbackto what was  

  Everything has floated away Fish bones The belly gives birth to pain   The tree moves like a dead stone washed by healing water On the banks of a jagged river in the hollow of a fresh wound    I take a pager from the pocket of a thunderstorm but remember there is no

On your way to be stuck in traffic No escape by the Riverside Headed home just drove past it Chasing dolls on White Rock tides Drop your dream in the mail then hurry Richmond Post for your Russian bride Mayor’s rant of a Fleetwood foot rub Over the protests where he presides Point Grey down