Archives for the month of: March, 2014

aorta3It’s best to label all your ports, especially when you’re a tech idiot like me. That way you can plug everything back in quick and turn the sucker on.


anticipationIn the moment between two moments. First you hear what your poem wants to say, how it is rapidly assembling itself in space and time from every street corner and sand pile and treetop. It is hard to keep up, the poem is talking so fast. Something about blue jay feathers you found in the yard last summer, about the way horseshoe crabs molt their shells under a new moon, about your father 20 years dead and that coat of his still hanging in your closet. Outside, in the storm, your landlord has revved up the snowblower. And snow, there is something about snow. Everywhere your poem is making itself, you can feel it inside you like song. It tastes right here like the tip of your pencil. This is the first moment. The second moment is coming, once the inevitable last word surrenders to form and the poem ceases to speak to you and instead begins to speak to everyone else. Between these two moments, the days and weeks and months and years between, is where you live, where your work lies, where you can’t make the poem sing, where you must make it sing.

aphrodite + swan

To read this piece, go here:


antlerTo read this story, go to:

apothemOne day I drew a perfect line with my finger in the sandbox, and that was the beginning of my imaginary empire.


anthemionTo read this piece, go here: