tissue evidence of my alergic reaction to the daily news, camera, a purple ukulele, a checkbook and several bills dyed coffee song with scrawled chords “all we are are our goodbyes” (Am C) and burned cd’s and picks and pin’s a broken watch a photo in a blue stone frame of a kid who threw [...]

some snowy days are calm and bright and so oddly quiet they make you think words like ‘holy’. some snows leave they sky white. but some snowstorms, real snowstorms, bring the dark on early and they are not quiet. it’s 4:30 now and it’s all dim blues and blacks outside, you can see that a [...]

The pressing need for software only happens to come to you as you are approaching the swell of a new project or a new stage. Time gets quicker as the complexity of thoughts and looming tasks adds up. At this point your mind begins to divide, or to slip more quickly back and forth between [...]

There is a room in the network of my memory a place my nanny built in stories and birthday cards that is a garden that she tends where all us grandchildren are. Her imagination twisted us descendant girls with fairytales and still we have been lonely looking for ourselves in her portraits. What we didn’t [...]

i’ve been keeping this picture trying to find the place where it would be happiest, where it would do the most good. Of all the hundreds of hundredths of seconds i caught on that day on the way up to trenton this one is the best.

the light is getting dim. the afternoon seemed good, but now they’re pressing in (against the bricking,) and taking all the air again. this apartment looks out over the whole fragile, breathing thing and still the ice is record thin (we’re so useless- taking all the air again.) the road and everything it needs and [...]

marjorie wore the tired drawl, and drunken sexiness, and harsh quick wit, that she’d found could draw her to the center of laughing men and, usually, keep her safe from them until the mornings stretched long and the feeling of missing something took up too much space in the room and all the customary jeans [...]

Some voices sound out of lungs like a fine oak barrell, or at the edges of notes run their hands through dry grain, or play hard on the sinews of the face and throat as though with a heart-broken bow. Some sounds all feel the same. When I closed my eyes outside that cabin, our [...]

some voices sound out of lungs like a fine oak barrell, or at the edges of notes run their hands through dry grain, or play the sinews of the face and throat as though with a heart-broken bow.

I’ve started working on writing pieces that link together. Bits of poetry and prose and quotes from other people’s writing that expands the idea of the poetry, or that inspired it. I’ve learned a little xhtml and css to do this. I’m really a beginner with any kind of programming (they don’t teach that in [...]