Flaw Salad

I was hoping to find a wreckage, maybe. Couldn’t you have been a mirage, so many months ago, when I thought you were everything, everything, everything? Couldn’t it have been a stupor, some drunken mistake? No, it was clear then as it is now. Your kind eyes and beautiful face and infectious laugh, the warmth — read more

And as the soapy water washes idle ink from your skin, you long for it to reach deeper, to cleanse so many stray marks they’ve penned upon your soul. — read more

He was not the kind of man to take emasculation in stride. Unlike smaller men with uneven shoulders and bulbous, lolling heads on thin, breakable necks, he commanded respect. He tolerated no lapse. Time never does favor the weak, and he, all too aware of his brief, niggling existence, refused to spend precious hours feeling — read more

My god, it’s clinical the way I write about you. First this, then that, then something else. Facts in a line. The things that happened. You’re a screenplay.  He is a poem, and his hand on my shoulder, that one fleeting touch—I looked to his eyes and his great, wide smile, and I felt words — read more

A new year. Fresh and blank. Blank. Your mind is blank. Your heart is blank.  Nothing, nothing, nothing. Dive into the warm, blue pool. Search there for something. Find the bottom. Smooth and blank. Your hands in your hair. Tugging. Pulling. Nothing. Lie down and breathe. Blank. You must do something. — read more