From the Ground Up
a poor harvestof winter wheat . . .still, I grind the grainon the old stone wheelthen sow the fields again It's morning. Nails protrude through loose floorboards, throw rugs lie…
Driftwood
The wandering woman curls her toes into the sand as a wave cascades over her feet. The cool, frothy wash provides an interesting contrast to the heat of the merciless…
Dreamories
~Chicago: In the Hypnopompic State of Illinois, USA In the early hours of a brand new day, I back my car out of the garage and park it temporarily on…
The Last Exit
It begins somewhere in the nebulous inklings of REM sleep, at just about midnight, as we're speeding down a quiet wooded road. Sara has the wheel in a stranglehold. We’re…
Anchors Aweigh
my muse and Imake love on the placid pagesoon drenchedas Hokusai's Great Wavebreaks on our shore There is a quiet here—save for the clack of my Smith Corona*—that only midnight…
Exponential
My muse has seduced me again. You’re the Writer. You’re the only one who can write it.It’s your responsibility to write it—your duty! So, here I sit, fingers massaging keys…
