“Tell me about the way We used to live.” A cross between philosopher And child, this one is. “Moral Geography it is, then,” He’d grumble back, “The pleasure of the sound of ice in the whiskey glass Before my father had a bad thing to say. The question of whose fault it is when the […]Read More The Philosopher’s Bed Time Story
I hear him wailing. My hound dog and I have taken to walking through the neighborhood as of late. He has discovered that he is more of a city dog than anything else. He no longer has the patience or the guts for the woods. His ears will pick up the noise of a hawk […]Read More Gentrification #2
I have five stories about myself If I tell them all to you you will understand everything there is to know about me. I will tell them all in rapid succession while I have you here Because if you leave before you know, you will forget, and then who will I be?Read More Another Confession for William Carlos Williams
Travis She was our neighbor. She stole our pumpkins. Overfed our dogs. On the day I took her To the hospital She called me by someone else’s name She was the nicest lady ever. — Julie I’ve always really loved this pic. I see my grandfather at a clay pigeon shoot I see that we […]Read More Third Month. Two Friends. One Poem.
A thousand times, no I do not like that album I did not like it when we started dating, and I told you that even before I knew I liked you; please do not play it now because I am in the middle of something. It is a grand plan, this something because it always […]Read More A thousand times, no
I want to tell you about the time I had John Denver’s phone number. Or at least the possibility of having his number. By the time I might have had it, though, he was gone, having tried once more to touch the sun. It was in one of those pre-palm pilot organizers, long before smartphones. […]Read More John Denver’s Phone Number
I do not know how one became singed Or how these two orphans decided that they would be the ones to remain out of a set of four place settings. This remaining set reminds me of an old apartment–my first– and friends who gathered there for meals poorly prepared. The faux jade, scratched by years […]Read More Chopsticks