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CHARMING
You said it was a lucky charm,but I know my cereals and itclearly wasn’t that, nor was ita faked foot of some leporidaesylvilagus, even you would neverbe that cruel, you are a veganafter all, even your shoes aresome unholy man-made material. And I don’t believe in luck,I’ve never had it, good or badalthough I do…
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REAL TIME
Reality is clearly something to be avoidedto be dressed up in tattery, tied in ribbons,perfumed, yet its fetid stenchis always lurking in the backgroundwaiting to pierce your nostrilsin an incautious moment until you retchand bring up the bile that marksthe darker moments of your life,the kind that lingers in the throatwhich no chocolate can erase.Reality…
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ENFORCED SILENCE
The city is a ghost town,the ghosts peering warilyfrom windows they nowwish they had takenthe time to have cleaned,and now there is timeand no one to clean. They fear the silence,cannot fathom the smellof the air, somethingfaintly like a cool morningfrom their suburban childhoods. They have found pots,pans cast aside or usedfor any purpose otherthan…
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DREAMS
It starts quickly and unexpectedly. You do not know when it will start, why, or what it will bring. There are times when even after it is done, you cannot be certain what it was, what it did, what it meant. Often, though, you forget it before you have time to capture it. It is…
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LINKAGE
Linking things is a human need,tenuous forces barely holdingacross synapses easily brokenor lost, never to be replaced. Ithaca is forever joined withGalway City, and I still have notfigured out how to get the twopeople together as together isobviously what they should be. She sits at a small tablein the Commons, staring, waitingperhaps for a writer…
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ALL BAD REASONS
She says I should watch the game,the team I have followed sincewell since before I can rememberwhen. I am puzzled by which of myexcuses I should use to explainwhy I will not watch this game orany. I could tell her that I am a jinx andmy watching will cause them to losealthough I do frequently…
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HAUNTING
The ghosts of my birth parentsblow into my dreams asso many white sheets tornfrom the clotheslineby gale winds, fly over me,at once angels and vulturescarrying off memoriescreated from the clayof surmise and wishful thinking. I invite their visits, frailbranches to which to clingin the storms of growing age,beginnings tenuous anchorsto hold against time, knowingthe battle…
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WISHFUL
“I will take it,”the aging poet saidto the ever more sparsecrowd at the weeklyopen mic,“as a recognitionis the growthin the qualityof my writingthat I continuebeing rejectedbut now by amuch higherquality ofliterary journals.”
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THE FROG
I can still smell the formaldahyde,see the frog pithed to the boardas I went about dissecting it,taking copious notes on whatI found, identifying organs,both of us hidden in a cornerof our fourth grade classroomso the other students didn’tfeel like they had to vomit. This Yom Kippur, even thoughI no longer practice the faithof my youth…
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ARIA
After years of embarrassmentI have finally come into the light.It isn’t that my writing has improved,although I surmise that wouldbe a narrow space to fill,or that I can now draw thingsthat were once stick peopleand animals and things. What has improved, andimproved significantlyis my singing voice, oncea three note range, and onenot known to music,but…
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an old writer and his words 