Napalm And Novocain

Marked as Fragile You said you were just a paperweight resting upon scrawled letters. You were more than that to me; you were a snow-g...

Without Grace I sit in the redwoods on the deck wondering why would I . . . feel bad for leaving you Why does it matter so much to m...

Detachment A thread of light:  the fog opens, like a sinkhole, lifts and heaves itself onto a shelf of clear sky.  Dissolves. What a...

Die for Me Death comes to a man like a dream But there are no real goodbyes Only a hint of something mysterious inside Dying a little ...

Hitchhiking to Maine Sometimes the words "goodbye" Can drop, semi-syllables Like small explosions In an empty room. A rela...

Disassembly Required It was an unbuilding, more deliberate than a demolition a deconstruction accomplished over time a plank-by-plank ...

Hollows That Bleed I draw a heart across the page. But it stays empty. Nameless. My love, it seems, is hollow. Unfulfilled....