I might feel sad, that like these leaves— I’ll fall for you and fall again. But falling means I’m still alive Yes, falling means I’m still alive.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Here I am, friend. Look inside. My panes are transparent; You may gaze upon my shadows But don’t let them distract you From my fearless light. I will scatter golden fractals Like sun-marbles Into every shadowed corner of this place. Come in. Come in. … Continue reading Window.
There’s a natural turning point in childhood when we become increasingly aware of ourselves and hypercritical of others. We notice things more vividly as if a fog has been lifted from our eyes. Did that not-so-close family friend of ours always have a moustache? Was that fence always yellow? I’ve never noticed that Aunt Jenny’s thighs look like a drooping cheese… Continue reading The End of Childhood
Do you remember a time when you were young, perhaps your parents were having a dinner party, a Thanksgiving gathering, or a barbecue? The adults were boozing and laughing while you drank your apple juice in wide-eyed wonder, pondering the strange socialization habits of adults—like a scientist trying to understand animalistic mating rituals in the Serengeti—you were left wondering, why the… Continue reading You’ll Get It When You’re Older
Beauty lives on desks, and shelves …and everywhere you let it. A yellowed photograph, a seed, a spool of thread. A grocery list in a loved one’s writing, a feather, or an empty chair resting in the yard. It’s easier… to see the things that aren’t beautiful: the dishes, an unopened bill, a fresh zit. A… Continue reading Beauty Lives
A single strand of long blonde hair dangles from the ceiling of the subway car. I wonder to myself how this rogue hair got there. Did a 12 foot behemoth of a woman bump her head? Did someone place it there festively like a strand of icicle tinsel? My thoughts lazily bounce back and forth the length of… Continue reading Subway