About the author
Love Song
Three birds are still At the foot of the trail, So close to the nest. Everything alive Is with heat. Starving Makes me Rich, But it must be self inflicted. Tobacco, Fur, Mirror. Little boy, little boy in the rocks, Teach me how to make fire. I will feed it as child. Bind up bones and set The quiet birds Near flame. ...
As Usual
As Usual I drain the tofu first, holding the heavy white sponge in my palm. Sear it til the white browns. Moving that to a bowl, I hear the bell. Someone is at the door. I wipe my hands, buzz him in after throwing the chopped onions, mushrooms, peppers into the still hot wok. When the tender flesh begins to brown, and he turns music on in...
Orion’s Belt, My Hips
It is the first day of 2012. What are you afraid of? Last night I cried and said out loud I didn’t expect I’d still be waiting tables at the same restaurant I was at 6 years ago. What changes in the heart? Where is solitude? Who makes the body pure? What soulish fiend am I? Always hungry for the escape, the deeper inside to get away from reality. Who said reality was where anything ...
