I’m a doctor cutting into leftover heart tissue that's been microwaved into jerky and then left to harden in the hot sun of heartbreak ( Read more... )

He feels a deep transition churning in the belt of him. The anchored soul of him. His visor, helmet, fist and feet are ready for new sights, new sand, and new hair. It’s an unimagining. It’s a slate cleaning. When he is old and single, he will have pages and pages of ideas that he did not act upon. He will have acted on some of them but most ( Read more... )

April 30/30 ( Read more... )

April 30/30 ( Read more... )

I’m wearing my good luck funeral. A fake pencil is nestled in the inside pocket. I taste licorice because it’s raining. The wildlife keeps a respectful distance. My shoulder skulls track the clouds for threats. Finding none, I kneel before the tombstone of my godson. If ink was blood, I could write you a story of my veins and how they came to ( Read more... )

You see me as a fellow victor but I don’t see myself that way ( Read more... )

It’s planned ( Read more... )

Failure shapes you more than success ( Read more... )

Write through the owls of your mind that make the black curtains of nocturnal living seem attractive. Crochet paper airplane lace-doily lightness from your craning-neck tension trying to see shuttle launches from 1985 Cape Canaverals. When all your heart knows is that there have been no moon walks recently and that the backstage passes are dated ( Read more... )

The matrix isn’t science fiction. It’s real. And today has been one of those days that made me wonder if escape is ever really possible ( Read more... )