It’s six o’clock and I’m tired of the way you make me feel, old and hungry and sad.  A useless combination. I cleared off my desk today.  I like to pretend that it will help me work.  If I have a space, dedicated, committed.  I like to use synonyms, back to back.  Because life is all about nuances.  Slight differences changing one thing from another.  A truck stops on the side of the street. To let pedestrians pass. It’s snowing out. They walk, arm in arm.  Linked. Should they fall, their fates are likely intertwined.  Unless they’re lucky or strong.  Folks don’t seem to be both anymore.

Bon Nuit

You tell me goodnight in five different languages

sleep clings to the edges of our eyes, of our lips

your voice scratches out the words

hoarse from loving and laughing, at each other//with each other

I ask you to repeat it in Russian, your native tongue

I want to hear again

how your mouth forms the words

want to watch your lips push them out

I love to watch what your mouth can do.


Life has a way of shattering my fairy tales

She’s a testy bitch, to tell the truth

But I love the shit out of her

She’s all time and space and energy and matter,

Made of this world are wind and rain, land and sea

When they collide, it can be beauty, or it can be havoc, or it can be both.

I wish that I could reach back through time.

Grasp a seed, or stone or leaf

Hold it in my hand, bring full circle that from which we have come

Think, what kind of energy that would be?

What kind of sensation would that impart?

I imagine it breaking shape as it weaves and collides with moments and places and things,

Before looping itself under and around

The seed, or stone or leaf,

And pulling it back. Bringing it all together, as life condenses back into itself.


Everything that you said to me was directly out of a script. You posed your words to have the utmost effect on my fragile, nubile sensibilities. The stage was set, enter, you. You who were all wisdom and experience. How many roads have you walked down? Feet bare and tan, curling your toes deep into the earth on each downbeat. Wandering down some obscure path, uncertain of your future, ambling forward just the same. Standing a little bit taller for coming out the other side. Yes you, weathered adventurer, you who walked in from stage left, and spun a wonderfully woven web. That web, certain to snare the cagiest of prey, most formidable of foes, and I was caught.


I am happy today. Why you ask? Because I held a woman in my arms last night. I held her close and we let our feet be carried by music pulsing through our bodies. My mouth grazed skin darker than my own; dark and warm and smooth like coffee on a bright summers’ morning. She tasted of fire and flesh and freedom. I wrapped her in my arms and felt whole again. I felt like a woman again. I found something of myself that I’d forgotten I’d lost – my passion.