I wish you would have talked to me about stages of life. I wish we would have had a serious talk about transitions. Shit, I wish you would have talked to me about energy.
Where much of my work in poetry is in the abstract, other parts of me crave a marked progress.
I doubt this will be my last entry but with this pain in my gut and troubled breathing all adding up to what feels like a bullet wound, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. Today is the day I decide to check myself into the emergency room since a clinic is not…… Continue reading Bullet In Ya Head
Picking up pieces, rebuilding, working with what I have—I’ve been doing that all my life. For the first time in awhile I wake at a decent hour to plod blueprints for moving and a continued glow. Hours have been all screwy lately since that cut off from work, and it was a much needed split.…… Continue reading Storm Can’t Crush The Love
Mystical winds blow. Neighbor tells me alcohol ain’t for him any more. My decision is to fly my bike into the sun. At bars I shall drink water. I shall breathe in secondhand smoke and try to smile. She drinks water, serves otherwise. He calls and without prodding from a single soul, “Weed ain’t my…… Continue reading Take Me Away!