I muscled my way through writing as I did with mountaineering, relying more on brute force than actual technique. In mountaineering it nearly got my killed and as a writer it kept me at the junior varsity level of blogger…. Read More ›
identity
Maps and legends
We’d drive the twisted road down from France across the border and into the crowded dusty parking lot in Spain then return home with cases of wine and if they had it, the Bols oude genever.
Slow fade, side two
Pink on the mountains as the sun falls behind the ridge and casts a shadow with a line inching upwards in gray as it sets. I climbed that peak and could picture myself on the top in a picture I… Read More ›
Mimicry
I had to go back to where I was from. The beach, where the forest meets the ocean and the river lets in. In that golden autumn we were all forgotten. I hung my shirt on the back of my… Read More ›
Damn good address for a rat
But for the crows it’s quiet on my walk to the lake. The clouds make it glum with the lawns going brown and the leaves coming down. I jump the gun with fall, my favorite season (the first half). In… Read More ›
“Weights”
We are animated by a force that inhabits this shell, bound to it.
On Division Street
We didn’t move to the beach for that, we moved there to postpone growing up for one more summer.
“The things they carried”
It is a small but very precious part of me hanging in our front window.
5th and Hamilton
Maybe the art was in the refashioning of otherwise useless things.
The strength of strings
I started to learn that to write is to live, and you can’t do much of the former without the latter.
