A Mother’s Day for the Rest of Us.

As I typed the title, I’m instantly reminded of the Seinfeld episode, and Frank Costanza’s holiday Festivus (a replacement for Christmas). He was annoyed by the commercialization of Christmas, so he observes his own celebration (minus the distracting tinsel). Anywho. I can’t have kids. I found out when I was 32, when I was plunged… Continue reading A Mother’s Day for the Rest of Us.


Odette with a broken wing.

Graceful lines and symmetry but beneath it all you cannot see the chaos held together with spit and prayers and a cocktail of modern medicine's latest poison. My dance is a side effect that just happens to be graceful my song a disembodied pantomine that passes for social interaction. I don't pretend to be like… Continue reading Odette with a broken wing.

Spring Rolls in the Dead of Winter

I am a child of luxury. I learned that on a day I was feeling particularly sorry for myself, having picked up another sackful of medicine for my omnipresent depression which has proven especially difficult for my $150 an hour psychiatrist to treat. I pulled up to my favorite sushi place just before it started… Continue reading Spring Rolls in the Dead of Winter

After Life

Above it all I hear the quiet that is ever present now, below the timbre of a sweetly singing choir… vibration of wire and thought to still my own in times of travesty. I once belonged to ones who might have turned my cheek and not their own...love was no phantom on the tail end… Continue reading After Life

the wrong side of town.

In the mustard yellow smoke that floats along the streets there drifts a burned and greasy smell through shot-out windows from frying pans ignored while on the phone to a neighbor. I long to turn the burner off, but it smells like home to them. By trashy puddles warm with sewer gas I pass with… Continue reading the wrong side of town.

The Last Rocket

The ground does not yield as I make my way unsteady across the dirt mounds and bone-dry grasses in the brittle frost of the early deep freeze. It's almost as cold as Mars at the equator, I find myself thinking. I dream of butterscotch evenings, and landscapes tanned red and brown and meandering canals clear… Continue reading The Last Rocket

Sickness (from 9-24-2017)

I've been sick...bronchitis again.  The last few weeks are an impressionist brushstroke of grey rooms, the silver sheen of ambulance doors, and the blue-green checkered misery of hospital gowns. It's solitary business, being sick.  It is foreign hands on your body and cool, detached voices.  It is thoughts of mortality and isolation as the world… Continue reading Sickness (from 9-24-2017)

Checking out

I'm not sure if you've ever wanted to kill yourself, but it's not as dramatic as you might think.  One minute you simply want to die, as in cease to exist, and the next moment you actually have a plan. That feeling, that bereft, lonely empty hole that's hollowed out your soul has actually taken… Continue reading Checking out