A Made-Up Place I’d love to sit by the old stone wall I made up once and roll it away to find a stairwell behind, a journey into a deeper unknown mystery of my mind, returning to the core of who I was, my smallest form, so that I might learn something new for today.
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Word Bubbles Travel with me a moment into a place where our thoughts become action. Yes, this sounds like the introduction to a 60s science fiction series. Pardon me. There are some ideas I wish to keep secret. They are my tangle of vines, grounding me in reality. Reminding me that I don’t have to throat punch someone. All I […]
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A Portrait of Wilbur Just as one poet once wrote about a last duchess, so did the poet write about the first Wilbur. The brown clothing, smell of moth balls, scent of age of rows of books that Wilbur rested within. You have to wonder – did he read all those books, are they in progress, or are they simply […]
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Persona non Grata To the not good enough comments, I say, psshhhhhh. That was last week, a hundred years ago. Easily. I’m flushing, rinsing down the last backwash of badly- formed words. This week is triumph, so don’t mind that shadow you noticed last week. He has bloomed like a perrenial and will be back soon.
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