William Pearse writer

That feel

I sat waiting for it with my eyes closed. I heard the music from upstairs mix with the sounds of my own music. I chewed the ends of my mustache and saw the pattern of grass and how it looked… Read More ›

Terror twilight

The bobcat in our yard must have disrupted the balance because everyone was talking about it from the crows to the neighbor dogs to the lesser birds and bats. They were all peeping and cheeping and the crows, with that… Read More ›

Face ID

The reflection throws back a version of myself that’s real but see-through The gray light of day. The pattern of squares across my window pane. The sound of a record from another time projecting me backwards and setting me down… Read More ›

Low relief

Clear, starry nights with no moon, no pollution, and no time I need to get up. The Hawaiian shirt John gave me that’s missing a button right where my gut sticks out, but I wear it anyway. And that one… Read More ›

Mondays don’t matter

It is the best day ever! A Monday, full-on sun, and I’m not working yet. I smoked a five-pound pork shoulder on the bone and weeded, planted flowers, just poured a beer and it’s only 3.