Waiting for blood work I play Bo Diddley’s beat with my thumbs. This is me acting my age. A man walks in with a bleeding forehead. He sits | next to me. The TV reminds us to ask our doctors if the screen is black. Fiscus leaves...
Read MoreA quiet woodland walk calls to my soul. A breeze as balm envelopes every tree of thoughtful pondering inside of me content, preferring level ground to knoll. So deeply rooted, much is yet concealed. With every leaf filled bough,...
Read MoreOutside the window of my father’s ‘65 Thunderbird, the sky was cobalt blue. There were stars but they didn’t interest me. Trees flew by, and houses and buildings, and foothills in the distance; but the moon skated right along...
Read MoreNo, it’s not in Chernobyl, or on the down ramp to Dante’s last circle of hell. It’s on a road called Fruitville between antique and consignment stores. “All Your Vaping Needs” says the sign. No parking, no foot traffic. All day...
Read MoreTo the music of breathing My heart its four chambers Pumping joy, gratitude, truth And beauty My lungs full of air in and out Six major directions flowing Through this body of Water and bone I laid in a field of tall grass At...
Read MoreSeven years I’ve lived high and lonely in the mountains to keep the Territory safe from the rage that flies from me like rabid bats from a cave: aimed at them that stare at my bear-slashed face and think it’s funny; them that...
Read MoreMaybe it’s the ghost of one of the men or that poor child I put in early graves. It perches on my shoulder, caws like I should understand, and tugs on my ear maybe to tell me something important, maybe so’s I feel a bit of the...
Read MoreI check my traps once a week, every six months before the winter lockdown, I ride down to Quarry and trade pelts for necessaries, then amble to Miz Williams’ hotel and restaurant to hear the news and get fed a meal that rolls my...
Read MoreBarely twenty-three—leastways by my reckoning, in these lonesome mountains— and it feels like I should be dead a hundred times, what with the savagery I’ve done, the savagery done me. In this log and daub hut, I’m thankful I...
Read MoreThe man hobbled along the dreary underground corridor connecting the north and south train stations. Holding his wife’s hand, he tested his bone-weary legs with each step, aching for the comforts of home—his tea, his slippers,...
Read MoreThe past panting behind me with ragged breath like a Chinese dragon or a three-headed chimera and oh lord I am too old to keep running too tired to outpace rememories and here they come as I collapse on the grass one after...
Read MoreWalking briskly for miles unbelievably strong for almost eighty a bit cocky as I sail past a young man tugging on a Golden Retriever A woman weeding her roses looks up at my naked knees, my saggy skin and asks if I have ever...
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