Monthly Archives: December 2017

Arc

It is the mouth birthing a blood-new kiss that begs gravity’s pardon and raises lips to an impossible arc. Advertisements

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The Writing Life

Pen, referencing a glossary of soul, scratches out excess to clarify Eternity, finger-holds, tenuous at best, dignify the mount of a marvelously impossible task.

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White Bird

She, full of secret pines, shadow-limbed beneath a pale disc of winter sun, waltzing solo in snow-caked hills, blood-red quill tucked behind her left ear, just in case the urge to climb spires and trace spheres via a fierce run … Continue reading

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Broken Land

My first novel, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, which was named Underground Book Reviews Book of the Year (2014), has officially been re-released. Available in paperback and digital editions. Click here to buy. ABOUT: A spectral, existential noir set against the aging … Continue reading

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Winter Adagio

Nightwalk in a small town. Moonbleached adobe set against the snowglobular shakedown of flakes, as if dandruff from the itchy shaved scalp of God was falling, a phosphate rhapsody. Along the road, mudskinned snowdrifts, like albino coal-miners, crouching, or dispossessed … Continue reading

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First Love, Winter

Boy and girl, sledding tongues, no words— Winter, gloves off.

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Mary

      It was a scorcher. One of those ovenbake summer days where you feel like you’re huffing fur.    I had decided to take a stroll around the neighborhood, and re-acclimate myself.    As I walked down the block … Continue reading

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Winter, a Love Story

Winter’s brides, wearing long white scarves of sleet and song, touching pale sky to blue lips, breathing memory and frost; their sorrow and spectral want grows hands  that enclose me, a robust crush, matrimonial in its grip, until I am … Continue reading

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Zuzu’s Petals

  A father’s pocket, containing secret petals— the meaning of love.

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Claim for the Meek

I do not want to see the face of God. I want to see her mask, where and for whom it cracked, the causal history of lines and fissures; want to trace, with blind mute innocence, the light quartered and … Continue reading

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