I started writing yet another reflective essay about how I'm not writing the way I wish I were writing. I decided a free verse poem would be more compact -- thus, this column of thought.
He left when he heard I was graduating. I wanted to follow him into the hallway and plead that I could drop my capstone class and hang around for another year but too many pieces of me were invested in matriculating. I wished him a good day and listened to the door shut behind him.… Continue reading Smashed Pear (entry fragment)
It is 4 AM. This night is a metaphor. Sometime around 8 pm I felt tired and decided I would take an evening nap and awake at midnight to begin my career as a writer. What I never mention to myself is that this has happened before: I sleep until midnight and then reset the… Continue reading Reverse Exiled: Bill the Cowboy & Beyond
Remember, you have not reached full power yet. If you use all the abilities you were designed with, you should become stronger. You may even become as powerful as I am. ‘Zero’ Therefore, take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day, and having done… Continue reading Mega Man X Complex: Armor
I just spent a week living in a Hobbit Hutch. For those who prefer an equine image, I am a Belgian in a Halflingers’ stall; canine: a Great Dane in a Dachshund kennel. I moved into a reduced height bedroom, the product of a frugal renovation that turned a townhouse with high ceilings into multi-occupancy… Continue reading Out of the Hobbit Hutch
“There is always something burning,” I said. Drew wondered if the ominous nebula percolating between the buildings could be from the demonstration. When we saw a masked figure wheeling a dumpster toward the flashpoint, some neighbors had suggested an alternative route from the check-point. “Something is always burning? Oh, you mean literally,” he said, as… Continue reading Always Burning: 1
‘The Cave’ has joined the constellation of favorite jamming places tracing back to my visits to Bogue Street bridge, freshman and sophomore years of college. I felt drawn, in an almost mystic way, to that alcove under the bridge crossing the Red Cedar River. By chance, a young artist named Maria found me and took… Continue reading Trumpet & Accordion