October 21, 2021

I’ve spent so much time over the years reigning myself in that my writing has been too measured. Maybe it’s not about the iceberg theory—making meaning by what’s left out. Maybe it’s good to simply say it straight out. Do what the energy wants. Rip off the band-aid. Let it bleed. Let it breathe. Just let it be. And maybe this change is about more than writing. Maybe it’s about my life.
More October 21, 2021

phantom hangover

Dreamt I drank. Felt guilty as hell. There was no desire to drink. Just did it. I was driving my son’s car. 2009 Toyota Corolla LE. Going to get it tuned up for him at a friend’s garage. Strange. Surreal. Exciting and worrisome, as dreams often are. I felt good, buzzed up, but I knew … More phantom hangover

a prayer

I wrote A Prayer in 2004. I was a different person, but I wasn’t.  There’s immaturity in that writing. That’s natural. As artists, we grow—if we dedicate time to the craft. What was best though. was seeing that I’d grown as a person. I don’t even recognize some of the stories. I get the meaning. … More a prayer

the obvious

Mayflies dot damp sidewalks as we move along with the dogs. Our morning exercise between bouts of rain. The routes we take are the same. There are only so many streets in this town. Best we can do is switch up our lefts and rights to see the world from different angles at different times. … More the obvious

8:53 am

Fat and sugar, salt and caffeine lift me when they hit the bloodstream. So, I make Sunday breakfast for family. Eat sausage while it cooks. Sip fresh ground blonde roast. Listen to Holiday Classics and my son, as he tells my wife about his late-night spent eating burgers, broccoli, chili, rice, and chips. watching college … More 8:53 am

life doesn’t wait for backed up sewer lines

In two inches of shitty water. Plunging the drain in the basement. Over and over again. Wads of hair. Toilet paper. Band-aids. Pieces of foil. Rubber bands. Bits of unidentifiable things built up over years, even long before we got here.  It splashes me. It stinks. But it’s nearly midnight and I’m not losing this … More life doesn’t wait for backed up sewer lines

twelve years into it

The sky threatened for hours. Light, then dark. Light, then dark. Light, then an expanse of dull gray, puffed up and floating above the big lake and our little town. The rain, mostly unpredictable sprinkles, came and went. Came and went. But we welcomed the day, and we were happy.  This was yesterday. Our anniversary. … More twelve years into it