December 2010
8 posts
The Push
. A femme fatale, past her prime; a housewife now, on the outskirts of town, blending in with everyone else: Parent-teacher meetings, spinning classes, the diaphragm. A once murderous blonde living with her suicide king, her lover of twenty plus years, father of her nine year old boy and witness to almost everything. It was the ‘almost’ who showed up that day in a muddy sedan - renting the house...
the up and up
. Saturn and Jupiter fingers, stained yellow from the company of cigarettes, held tight what may well be their last Marlboro, for at close to thirteen dollars a pack, the monk wondered how much longer he could afford the conversation. But in the dim light of unanswerable thoughts, the tobacco burned and the smoke agreed that if he caught the ash in the palm of his hand, and gently massaged it...
he said she said he said
. I wish I could stuff my pockets with all of your sadness, he said. And carry me home? she said holding out her arms. ‘Yes’ he said.
notes for a short story about love
. in the beginning before I let you go one last thing before I watch you walk out that door this memory the Chelsea New York City early morning blue deserted street the back of a cab to the airport your perfume your taste on my lips the end
pick me up hand me down
. In the basement of the church across the street is an orphanage of unwanted clothes and worn out things, where once in a while: a shirt, a table, a three-button suit, a lamp, a hat or a pair of shoes, will serenade me with a tale of how good I look or how my apartment has plenty of room. This morning, a fifty-percent-off 1960’s Burberry suit told me a story about seeing Monk and Parker at...
To be
.
change of mind
fear of change
change of heart
fearless
The Shape of Me
. The shape of me, held tight by the shape of things that shape my reflection and modesty. The shape of me, shaped by an idea of who I think I am, and gravity. The shape of me, carved from the alphabet and the shape of my vocabulary. The shape of me in photographs and what you see. The shape of me survived by youth and vanity. The shape of me, caught between what came before and what’s left...
engine
. This side street This sidewalk This red light This green This gap This crack This inbetween This car This driver This gasoline This chase This low-light This deafening This doubt This amber This silence This speed This changing This wall This night This dream