Yesterday I found the bookmark you had gifted me five years ago. It lay in a paperback between pages 8 and 9. The cover hadn't lost its gloss, and not a single page had creases. Odd, considering most of my books end up with dog-eared pages. Some have been read so long, they always stay … Continue reading Bookmark

Drop your tears in the middle of a poem

Drop your tears in the middle of a poem. See where they run. Which word do they hang on to? Where do they roll off the edge? Do they fill the spaces between the lines? Settling there in puddles until they evaporate leaving their salt behind. Maybe they meander around some words, cautious not to … Continue reading Drop your tears in the middle of a poem


If you fall off the plane without a parachute you have little time to pray to get into heaven. Unless you are an atheist, in which case you wouldn’t really pray. Or would you? Either way, you’d take the same time to crack your skull on the earth. The Dirty Thirty, Poem2