-
(Untitled)
I'm working night shifts at the bar again.
when it grows quiet and there's no one left but me
I play this and dance with all the feeling I have
oblivious to who might see from the street.
-
(Untitled)
We, the mad ones, have always known ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
Why did everyone of my fantasies some how turn into a trap? In this one I saw myself climbing our a window, in my bibbed apron and bun, oblivious to the cries of the children and grandchildren behind me. I might as well face it, I thought, I was an artist, an escape artist. I'd sometimes talked about love and commitment, but the real romance of my ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
some nights I scream just
to release the pressure
and prevent myself from
smashing a glass while
sweeping up at the end of the night. -
(Untitled)
I no longer writhe in shame ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
I am still sensitive to light
and the pressure of mere air.
i view everything refracted,
holed and reflected through
a lens whose voice I have
not yet come to comprehend.
I remain attentive to pressure,
that which small shoulders
can bear, can hold
ever when slouched,
wet and fragmented
on a family room floor.
Click to view