Monday, November 11, 2019




—PEOPLE HAVE TO SHARE THINGS. THAT’S WHAT INTIMACY IS


…That’s one of my best friend’s, Jack in the top photo.  I’m so glad he’s in my life.

…The other is Dane, my favorite nephew.  There’s no kid like him on earth, and he makes me so happy.

…This weekend I participated in the Bending Genres online workshop.  It was my 16th one.  I highly recommend them if you’re looking for inspiration or help with the craft of writing.
   One my stories was the first featured piece on Day 2.  That was a nice surprise, and very flattering.
   In January, I’ll be teaching the course for my first time.  I’ll post a link as we get closer, but here’s the general description:

Life is wonderful, but sometimes it’s not.  Sometimes life damages us, and quite often that harm comes from people we know, and maybe even love.  It can be a parent, sibling, teacher, friend, lover, or a random stranger in a coffee shop.  With words or actions, others can unsettle our lives and leave us wounded.  In this class, we’re going to delve into the times we’ve been hurt as well as those experiences that still haunt us, and we’re going to use that as fodder to create some kickass writing.  I can’t wait to partner with you to generate work with emotional depth that will both pierce and fill your reader’s heart.

   Anyway, Saturday night I woke up at 3:30 and wrote six pieces.  Here’s one:


Self-Portrait With Some Answers To Your Questions

I have a blue balloon stuck in my throat that you can’t see. It makes me wheeze when I sleepwalk or blink too much. My forehead is a billboard on trial for true crimes committed across state lines, and this mouth is a faulty Jack in the Box, my tongue a deflated raft. If my chin was one inch longer, I could cliff dive Possum Kingdom. Yesterday I shaved my head and planted alfalfa there, plus a chest of love letters for good luck. If you look closely you’ll see that one earlobe knows much more than the other, yet both my eyes are evenly conflicted. Yes, I’ve heard all about lunacy, but look at my neck. Isn’t it pretty? Be sure to remember it that way, while still you can.

Friday, November 8, 2019







—BUT WHERE ARE THE CLOWNS?


                                                  Baby
Kiss me with all of those bitter clouds stuck in your mouth.  Douse my rags with kerosene and flick a smitten match.  You can give me your misspelled tattoos and I’ll stitch every tainted consonant on my skin.  Yeah, I’ll be your tramp-stamp doll, the DUI you can’t take back, that shattered glass glittering red in the road.  Go ahead, please.  Stuff every jawbreaker of regret straight down my throat.  I’ll even take your uncle’s awful hands and shove them in my underwear instead of yours.  Baby, baby, baby.  Can’t you see I love you?  Turn those ears this way, tip your head and hear me screaming.


Wednesday, November 6, 2019



—EVERYONE I LOVE HAS THE HARDEST TIME SLEEPING


Our Un-sculpted

You can be my Garfunkel
and I’ll be your extra
kidney or spleen. 
I’ll paint your eyelids
such pretty colors
the sun will blush butterscotch
and never stop yodeling. 
It’s easy to synchronize ligaments
when the bees are this
drunk on Frankincense. 
Let’s make a poem out of
hope and yarn,
saliva and parking tickets. 
You can dance on my shoulders
for days or weeks,
even when you’re sweaty and smelly
(I won’t ever mind).
Our breath can teach us
foreign language skills. 
You can be my
Little Red Corvette and
I’ll be your pink heart and
green clover cereal. 
I’ll read the horoscope
below your belly button
and make you giggle Monarchs. 
What do you say? 
Let’s be lovers. 
There’s still time.