The Urn

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Had it been Wednesday, Jane would have been sweeping but as it was Tuesday, she was dusting for that is what Jane did on Tuesdays. As she dusted, she hummed a song her mother used to listen to as Jane was growing up. She...
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untitled

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you’d wonder about the dead. whether thoughts gnaw in the come-to-less cavities searching, uselessly, for a way out. the tongue dumb and heavy, then eaten slowly, losing strength. imagine, whether the self- consciousness as everything is stripped away- this to become a worm’s meal,...
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behind mullioned glass

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behind mullioned glass

poetry–slow breath of a quivering autumn leaf, lost in the snow   image: By Barras (Own work) , via Wikimedia Commons  
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Not Gonna Let The Bastards Win

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Not Gonna Let The Bastards Win

Not gonna change my profile pic Not gonna share some meme Not gonna wring my hands and wail Not gonna go extreme Thirteen years and we’re still here Don’t think it can be more clear They can try to take what we hold dear...
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The Transcendental Poodle

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The Transcendental Poodle

In his 1969 book Rumor of Angels, sociologist Peter Berger discusses “signals of transcendence,” the “reiterated acts and experiences” of everyday life that point beyond it.  Play is one such signal: it forms an enclave separate from the facts and necessities that govern our...
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To Smell the Roses You Must Stop

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To Smell the Roses You Must Stop

In a recent conversation with a colleague, I was given a piece of advice in the form of a cliché.  Now, as a writing teacher I don’t just warn students to avoid clichés; I scorn them most unmercifully.  I execrate them, I inveigh against...
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But Words Will Never Hurt Me

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But Words Will Never Hurt Me

Remember, we were discussing predestination the other night (I almost wrote “prestidigitation,” no doubt because I’ve been ruminating on the disappearance from our union of anything remotely resembling love. Where did the magic go?) At any rate and as usual, you came down on...
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Run

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Run

“Run” Infused darkness Supplanting light Bleeding color Surrounded and Alone Roller coaster Racing down Broken track The ride is Done Mirage world Shimmering morning No more thinking A blink then Gone Snarling demons Overtook you But at least You made them Run  
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The Family Business

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The Family Business

“Morning,” Margaret said cheerfully. “Patching a call through.” I can only imagine how many of my clients, colleagues and so-called friends have tried to steal Margaret from me. She is mercilessly efficient, and blessed with a shockingly juvenile sense of humor. Which I share....
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More from Arts and Letters

SideNotes

Tropic of Genius

I have always wondered how those guys persuaded law enforcement and the unindicted criminals in City Hall to agree to turn their entire metropolis into a giant game board.

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Simmering on Medium…


And then some...