December 2010
12 posts
Seven steps to the water and all I have to show is a paragraph; the saliva of a novelist, the wisp of an editor. I’m running, though, and I’m closer to truth. Deader, though, than a pilling page. The soil is wet and I’m drowning when I should be still. Wetter, though, than a written wave. Hitting you. Hard. Perpetual as the back and forth of my honest gyre. A belief, a believer,...
One Thousand Two Hundred and Seventy Eight Miles
For Christmas I want a home base. For Christmas I want a time machine. For Christmas I want a good thing. For Christmas I want respect. For Christmas I want to be fought for. For Christmas I want to be cared about. For Christmas I want a sure thing. For Christmas I want a Christmas.
Pretty Woman is a stupid movie
Time to change.
If home is a foundation and a roof to hold a fan, then why do I make a landmark out of people? Crooning over words to hold on to something familiar. A dial to your station, a minute to your parking spot. We’ll return after this commercial back up, in front of the dip, door, gate, building door, front door, bedroom door, safe. What are you if you aren’t always there? A bed sore to keep...
