Monthly Archives: August 2019

Gone Again

Under a sunstreaked tree, rough bark against skin, texture of a stolen kiss— She was touched, and saddened too, that these days it was her ghost who did most of her living for her, amidst the brackish ebb and flow … Continue reading

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The Mission

There were places she hadn’t been, wilds within that had escaped her gravely silent stalking. A fuse had been lit. Concentration was required. And stillness. The kind of stillness that would bring her face to face with the deeply unremembered … Continue reading

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Neo-Realism

There was something about a white telephone, unringing, that made her think of tightly wound spirals of cigarette-smoke in Italian films, or poorly lit hotel rooms where actresses played to the pall of their silence and wanting. Any moment now, … Continue reading

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Want Ad

After one year, one month, and two days, what she called her unsentimental education, she understood the city to be both a cryptic boneyard and high-rise projection which excluded her from any real contact. God, how she loved holding it … Continue reading

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Welcome to the Terrordome

She remembered how her friend used to say fear was an acronym for False Evidence Appearing Real. Another one she had come across— Fuck Everything and Run. She was, at present, beyond the scope and warrant of both acronyms. Real … Continue reading

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Icarus, Remixed

I was Icarus with double-edged wings once upon a time. The dreamer’s big eyes, full of flames and longing, the impetuous nature, the jazz of my soaring, all of it defined me as the blaring antithesis to my dad’s son-proofed … Continue reading

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In Praise of Ryokan

The moon, melting liquid frost onto my window, slips through my fingers, as I recall that legendary jewel thief who once pulled off an impossible heist, which, to this day, the right kind of fools, lovers and lunatics, constellate their … Continue reading

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Gusty Winds May Exist

Gusty Winds May Exist. This was the sign I saw on the highway when driving back from Albuquerque. Gusty Winds May Exist. Which, speculatively insinuates, they may also not exist. A climate conundrum and barometric riddle to challenge everything you thought you knew about … Continue reading

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Pressure Cooker

Sometimes the last straw was a torn grocery bag while several cracked eggs bled yolk onto the floor and you heard his key in the front door and the blackening notion that any one of the pans would do the … Continue reading

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Room to Spare

At a lighted remove, she coerces solitude into a tender rapport with her barest haunt.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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