The past imperfect
Most nights Lily would leave the bedroom window open and I’d look up to it in the mornings when I let the dog out. I’d look up to her window and consider her inside, Christmas lights on the ceiling, glimpses… Read More ›
Recent Posts
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Warrior 1
It can be enough actually, this: Just the angle of the day and you doing your best To cup a few handfuls of what it was like No different than wildflowers pressed in a book. Like the one in Scotland… Read More ›
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Memento
I saved the lift ticket from that trip to the Alps, saved it because it was written in German with the date stamped on top I don’t know why I saved it, perhaps I thought there’d be a time I… Read More ›
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Concourse A
Let me curl up with this book, Let me fold in on myself, Let me carve out a sliver of comfort in the corner Of this goddamned airport Oh to the sounds of the airport waiting to be somewhere else… Read More ›
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On the drive to Soaring Eagle state park
The same old men walk the streets at the same time each day Through the fog and birdsong, the runners in their new sweats And the world for what they see is mainly gray, for they look inwards They walk… Read More ›
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He not busy being born
Late May the grass by the pond’s grown tall where the frogs like to sing and screw and the song draws the dark down with the dew and we are all awash in it, spring! A medley of smells of… Read More ›
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The existential interstitial
Caught under the haze of morning the web of dreams I forgot who I was the name of the day where to step down In that liminal place feet hung dragged through air And the mind receded to give way… Read More ›
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What a sad, lonely day when I walk through the park
and a young man cuts the grass on the trail up ahead all he does is pause to loosen a clump of wet grass but he makes a point to smile and wave as I pass yet one day I… Read More ›
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The twos and threes
There is something about the twos and threes that gets mixed. One week ago is clear, two weeks is too, but now that I get to three I’m not sure, was it two weeks ago you left, or more? As… Read More ›
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17th and Spring
Like so much folly and confetti the cherry blossoms are back and scattered in the grass, for it is May and spring and I am a young man living in a rental, just 26. There is a courtyard no one… Read More ›
Featured Categories
writing ›
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The past imperfect
June 23, 2022
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Warrior 1
June 11, 2022
Memoir ›
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This ocean size
April 30, 2022
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The drugs don’t work
April 3, 2022
travel ›
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How to drink Scotch
November 23, 2021
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Field notes from the Pacific Coast
June 19, 2021
Bill Pearse 