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THE VIEW FROM ABOVE
The hawk sits in one of the highest branches of the tree, his red shoulders blazing in the morning sun, both staring down on those of us trapped by gravity, by the weight of our thoughts, as we pass by slowly below. From time to time the hawk will offer a short commentary, never ceasing…
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HAVING WRIT, MOVED ON
She says she sees the whole book in her head before she kills it putting pen to paper. It is there, she says where it dies immovable on the page. I invite the words onto the page as well and hope they take a life of their own expressing my intentions if not my thoughts…
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WORD
If I asked you for one word how would you answer? In your dreams, do you have both arms, can you write your thoughts on a scrap of paper and tuck it away? You had a lover, once, and he would trace his finger along your thigh. Do you miss that touch as you rub…
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an old writer and his words 