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.
Read more
In the World I’m tired of the high-minded voices I know talking about not being of the world. Like, what does that really mean? I’m the substance of this known universe. I have dirt under my nails. I eat from the ground. Get used to it. It’s not that I disagree with their stance on life, the universe, and a […]
Read more
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 […]
Read more
Notes Upon Viewing The still-frame, captured eye, I do not ask permission to see. When I enter the theater, I simply view. The camera takes me where I want to go, high in the air where I have never been. Up and down the side of a skyscraper. Into the mouth of a problem. Image, sound, life, deformed, resembled, […]
Read more