Yesterday, six months ago, I had just returned from Rome.
Yesterday, six months from now, I will have just returned from Rome.
Tomorrow, I am getting on a plane to fly to California.
The same carry-on bag, different contents.
Leather walking shoes for strolling museums, not this trip.
Hiking boots for mountainsides, needed this time.
Books, however, always books.
Julius Caesar and The Comedy of Errors, to Europe.
The Art of Travel and Italian Language Essentials, to Vasquez Rocks.
Continue reading “A Moments Thoughts on Travel”
Wrote this about eighteen months ago, odd to reread it now and see how overly stylized it feels. Needs revising, some factual details I want to fix, and a coda to add. Then I’ll likely submit it to somewhere before the end of the year.
Continue reading “Memoir: Eulogized”
An excerpt from the manuscript I wrote over the summer. Over winter break I plan to revise the entire manuscript, and to adapt this section to work also as a stand-alone short story.
Continue reading “Prose: The Man Who Took Away The Sky”
reading Jack Gilbert
mourning his dead wife
the grey sky outside
Continue reading “Poetry : Gilbert & Rome”
November chill hits as the bus pulls away,
Her warmth absent now from my arms,
Tale of one city but two schools.
I pass a group of four hoody’ed guys,
One slurs, “I like all the little shops.”
10 am and already stoned, life on 21st.
Continue reading “Poetry: NW Portland @ 10 AM”
Every so often I overhear a conversation so insipid that I have to write about it to get the memory of it out of my brain and somewhere else into the world where it will do less damage. Hopefully less damage. So a very rough poem, inspired by something I needed to process and forget.
Continue reading “Poetry : One-Eighth”
Looking at my lover laid out besides me, curled up in my arms, the warmth of her body against mine. My hand wanders across her bare skin and I am thinking of the three ways I touch my lover.
Continue reading “Free Write – 2014/08/16”
The hot air seems to suck the life out of everything it touches. Even sitting in the shade, beneath the picnic umbrella covering this patio table, my salad seems to shrivel and brown a little more with each caress of the wind.
Continue reading “Free Write – 2014/08/06”