I almost talked myself into taking time off from writing so I could finish the Harry Potter books before Halloween. The first one came out 16 years ago, so I’m a bit behind — but literature is forgiving that way…. Read More ›
inspiration
The problem with white space
So I’ve been up now since 3:30 AM listening to the rain and the sounds of Elton John and Styx in my head, toggling between the two as I try flipping over to my left and my right, but still… Read More ›
The best place for an idea
…isn’t your head. It starts there of course, but if it never leaves, that’s where it will end. We filter ideas for a variety of reasons, fear being the biggest, along with its brainy cousin, “discretion.” No, the best place… Read More ›
The Magic Place
It was a magic place, where we met. The sweet brine of birdsong, a tapestry in the trees, the mystery of light angled through the leaves. There, where the two made love on the ground, in the grass. How the… Read More ›
The art of disassembly
I dreamed my way through those days, propped myself up like a scarecrow, couldn’t fool the crows. If you want to know how something works you have to take it apart first, which applies to people, too. That’s what therapists… Read More ›
Suburban alternatives (2)
Dawn thinks Ruby has an enflamed rectum, which starts when she makes skid marks across the carpet with her rear-end. We hold her over the sink in the laundry room and run the water over her fur, I can feel… Read More ›
Collector of small things
The poet is a collector of small things who says Here, and holds out her hand with something found on a walk. It’s a leaf that could be a flame it’s so red, or a piece of wood that looks… Read More ›
A cold and broken hallelujah
It’s hard to go inside yourself and not be self-indulgent. Most people don’t, and leave a lot behind. You need to feel the presence of death on you and the dark that comes with it to fully appreciate the living,… Read More ›
The Meaning of Existence
It shouldn’t take more than 20 minutes to figure this out, but it has, and I haven’t still. I walk this same road every day, the same road, but always different. I keep thinking I’ll catch the tail of an… Read More ›
The slant of the fence
You can walk the same road a hundred times and you still may not see the slant of the fence. The slant of the fence doesn’t matter. It’s the angle and the curve and the way the light catches it… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 