The twelve miles from your sanctuary to civilization is paved with good intentions and overrun by weeds The graffiti-scratched stone walls trace back to the past like a holy scroll with no bodies to find, only empty tombs dug by bloodied knuckles A metaphor, but no less true for it Repentance comes easy and absolution, … Continue reading Sacrosanct
You sleep long hours, Bethany and dream of almost nothing In waking chills you smell the calm sea like martyrs’ singing blood You return, you return, and again, you return to hollow, filthy beds Now, once more, at living peace you tell fables of your decency You write short letters, Bethany of love, of need, … Continue reading Bethany
Play in your memory and sell your excuses to the pauper press who stiffen for the clink of silver pieces in your pockets Make no mistake The pavement is no softer a landing in the sheltering heat than in the enveloping cold The crime is done The cash is gone The word is out a … Continue reading Chicago Politics
Now, of all the great lies the Devil ever spread, love his prettiest bride A grace and a beauty, spectacular to behold, a bouquet of blooming iris Breathless in the bathing light of broken dawn This morning, this moment, lost in the silence of a billion stars burning out Promises and eternity, exhausted He, the … Continue reading Faithless
"No man is an island." ~ Some nitwit. In just a little over a month, I will once again pack up and move to another city. I will do this alone. I'm not here to retread old news. Instead, I want to weigh in on that oh so sacred of notions, The Solitary Life. There … Continue reading A Treatise on Solitude
Long-haired summer Saturdays an hour before it gets holistically hot You're still in bed if memory serves but when does memory ever serve? Just good mornings and goodbyes everything else is a pact with the devil, my soul for a window seat on the train and a silent phone Getting home isn't quite so simple … Continue reading The City Waves Goodbye
Ninety percent of life is context and you’re always out of it
[I don't remember exactly when I wrote this, a couple years ago at least. I enjoy how low art it is.] In my defense the marks on your wrists could have been from the cat - Though I see your point We had her declawed. I’m not quite ready to pack up your things I … Continue reading I Forgot To Tell You, Your Dad Called Last Week, He Said, ‘Happy Birthday.’
