If my mother had not been an alcoholic, I might not have been a poet.
I once flew in my dreams.
Then I read a book
that taught me how to control it.
My old friends are pretty much the same, a little slower getting out of their chairs, but the who of them always there beneath the skin – soul? I’ve become … Continue reading
The fawn was lost, it seemed to me, stumbling through the foggy field and disappearing. I went after it, not knowing why, thought I might help somehow. Wanted to hold … Continue reading
The noise of my life is still sleeping,and the self beneath myself enters the room.I say, I hope I’ve not abandoned you,my better brother. He says, no — I’m here all … Continue reading
Only the hard things remain. That bucket with the bottom rusted out won’t do. That old horse will – see how he still runs toward the barn when he hears … Continue reading
When I was a child and miserable and love stopped at every house but mine I’d go to sleep wishing for an angel, that she’d emanate from the dark and … Continue reading