made american

I was made American

One shoreline will never do

I need two


Life gets better with wind

and rain and all the idol rock stars

sucked into the muddy banks

of sound



the way i get closer to publication is by getting closer to my desk and the keys and the screen through my eyeglasses. by getting closer to the endless hours of playful work. mute the environment as much as i can. endless other hours of readying myself spiritually to be up to the process.



Rather than kill a corrupt or malevolent character off, why not go for redemption? Many heroic figures of storytelling legend were once poor, disabled, disfigured and underwent incredible transformations to become super and special, carriers of the light. It is much harder and more valuable and compelling to make treasure out of raw materials, or refurbish and recreate a tarnished old soul!


in kind

Correspondence was not much fun anymore. i was lucky if i got a card in the mail. emails made me nervous because there were so many awaiting reply. the days of receiving long letters penned in script by hand in ink on someone’s personal stationery were over. i had a thought. if i took the time to write letters the old way again, bypassing text and email and chat and video, and even bypassing phone, would I get a response in kind? and then might time turn back for us and write our lives the way we once wrote them, when we wrote long missives on personal stationery with silver trim and painted envelopes, hanging sideways over our elbows, quietly playing with each letter,  slowly, conscientiously by scripted hands, young and rolling in ink.


life on life

fightin to breath
swamped with media
loving you

mad at a careless system

sometimes it feels like
the last day

our boots crush the leaves
trodding on
into the thick

of it



echoes of yourself

alone as you may feel you are surrounded by echoes of yourself in words others speak when they address you and clothes they choose to wear for you to see and opinions they assert in a language you know cannot be taught only shared and is meaningful for you. together at long last.


who you are

My sweater has holes in it and you will not forgive me
I tell you I bought it this way and now you really cannot forgive me
I tell you I lied

I made it

I cut these holes with knives

when I was bored
You stop blinking and stare

Trying to smoke
me out

I shrug and pour myself a cup of coffee
I’ll never be who you want me to be
And I forgive you
You seem to always have that look

On your face

In my kitchen
It’s who you are