There is no time like the present but no present like ice cream on a summer afternoon with you beside me in the car and you in the back seat well before the days of work life and strife, when… Read More ›
poetry
What will and will not last
Well the dog is on her last leg, my mom, her last refrigerator. That elderly couple I climbed with in the Alps: the tread is shot on their boots but what’s the sense in getting another pair, they laughed. Me,… Read More ›
Look out the window
I’m not really here right now, but I wanted to be so I could maintain a 30-day streak and I’m getting close. Sharing an interview I did in 2017 with one of the writers I follow who’s taught me some… Read More ›
The human race is run
Outside the hose is coiled, the drain rock undisturbed, the lamb’s ear grown an inch overnight. It’s the time of day all the conference rooms are taken by the clatter of birds kicking up sparks. Dew on the grass turning… Read More ›
Two sides of the same coin
He could be like a murder victim on his side, the way he sleeps. The arms flailing, the legs cocked weird. Like a deer on the side of the highway. The dead are like that, caught in a sudden peace…. Read More ›
A roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour
It is a sleepy Sunday with the cat in the window, the clock ticking and the rain. Me smacking my lips, tonguing my teeth as a lion might a sinew. House cats are no different than their counterparts in the… Read More ›
Physical education
In grade school PE we were forced to do chin-ups in front of the rest of the class and some boys could barely do one, and were laughed at and teased, called pussies and worse. But there were others, quiet… Read More ›
The passing through
Poem you come out unformed as me, with no bones you plop onto the ground eyeless and bare, hardly alive. And what is form, but a language others assign to us for filing purposes? And what are we beyond our… Read More ›
Sisyphus in the underworld of our kitchen
It’s true, the microwave is sticky. Sticky on the insides, sticky when the door opens. And there’s hair on the kitchen cupboards, hair adhered to grease. Animal hair, but it doesn’t belong there. And mold on the insides of the… Read More ›
What it takes to look like a poet
There is nothing ordinary or light about you. You don’t look into the camera, you look down or sideways. You do that because the weight is too much for anyone to bear, the weight of your gaze. You know that,… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 