Extra Special Bitter

2011-12-31T13:05:00.001-05:00

believing next year will be better
I open another beer

2011-12-31T10:40:00.001-05:00

New Year’s Eve —
an empty whiskey bottle
slumped against the curb

dream sequence - part 23

2011-12-30T09:41:00.003-05:00

I was in a beautiful old downtown building for a meeting, surrounded by tall ceilings and marble floors. Two dozen or so of us were crowded into a small conference room. I didn’t recognize anyone, but they all seemed to know one another. Before the meeting started, about half of the room was dismissed on account of a high-priority project. At that point it was decided to move the meeting to a smaller room in the basement of the building.

There were still a dozen of us left, but only one person seemed to know where we were going. He led us down a dark, narrow passage way through a maze of caves carved out of stone, climbing continually downward. Each cave was brightly lit and featured a whirlwind of activity — people walking every which way, monitors flashing and music blasting. We had been walking for several minutes and must have traveled several stories beneath street level. Sensing my apprehension, our self-appointed guide said “we’re almost there — it’s just around the corner.”

I never made it to the conference room. You and I ducked into a small, intimate cave with a comfortable couch facing a large television screen. It featured a live feed from a camera mounted inside the lobby of the building facing toward the sidewalk to give us the illusion that these passers-by were almost close enough to touch. Suffice to say, your kiss took me completely by surprise.

Of all the times for my phone to ring, I cursed the improbable reception of this underground hideaway. In reality, it was my alarm, returning me to the pre-dawn darkness of the awaiting world.

Black Friday

2011-11-25T17:07:00.001-05:00

by the time I realized
that I was out of beer
it was already too late.
I had been standing
in the middle of the living room
with an empty six-pack in my hand,
taking to someone who wasn’t there.

for Jessica, Josiah and Me

2011-10-18T08:41:00.002-04:00

I found this on the old rec.arts.poems newsgroup, which is evidently archived by Google these days. I wrote it back in ’96, when both my son Josiah and Jessica Dubroff, who died while trying to become the youngest person to fly an aircraft solo, were seven years old. Josiah, now 22, has recently started his second four-year tour in the Marines.

if not for the blinding sunlight
I could see her
high above the clouds
but there was no sun that day —
only a cold driving rain
and a dark heavy sky.
all that’s left
is this long-winded mantra
that she was destined to fly
that to deny her
was the ultimate cruelty.
and so she flew
and I wait for the rain
to wash the blue-eyed dream
from my outstretched hands.

October dusk (and variation)

2011-10-03T18:35:00.000-04:00

October dusk —
wishing I could see
just one more firefly

October dusk —
just one more
firefly

Surrounded by Heather

2011-09-15T10:32:00.002-04:00

Mike Doughty may have gone to school with 27 Jennifers, but in my workplace I’ve discovered that I’m surrounded by Heather — the name that is. I’d say that the median age in my workplace is somewhere around 31, which should provide some clues regarding the prominance of the aforementioned name. According to the Social Security Administration, the name Heather was in the top-20 for baby names between 1970 and 1990. In 1980, the birth year of the median-aged employee, Heather was at number 6.

By contrast, Heather was ranked number 685 in 2010. One can only hope that the outbreak of Heather has abated.

Paul's Hour of Dark, Dreamy Pop

2011-08-14T16:28:00.005-04:00

Yesterday I had the privilege of guest-hosting for an hour on my favorite radio program The James Dean Deathcar Experience. I tried to avoid an hour of tirelessly punky pop songs, instead breaking the hour up into three distinct sets averaging five songs each. I called them “Dark,” “Dreamy” and, because I just can’t help myself, “Poppy.” The set list can be found here. A podcast of the hour-long program in its entirety can be found here. Please keep in mind that it’s over 50MB in size!

Made in America

2011-08-14T14:05:00.003-04:00

a deserted alleyway

2011-08-13T14:58:00.001-04:00

rhododendrons in bloom

2011-08-09T18:01:00.001-04:00

bright summer day

2011-08-07T13:53:00.000-04:00

in my dreams...

2011-07-29T15:47:00.000-04:00

writer's block

2011-07-13T22:24:00.001-04:00

Thankfully I don’t have it at the moment, but I probably should...

writer’s block —
the cork falls
into the wine bottle

abandoned

2011-06-15T19:13:00.001-04:00

abandoned
on the J train —
a broken rose

dream sequence - part 22

2011-06-01T08:09:00.002-04:00

the scene: an outdoor ice skating rink somewhere in the Midwest — some place I didn’t recognize. we were all in our late teens. you were being followed closely by two boys who were jostling to skate with you, while I trailed at a safe but watchful distance. before long the two kids were fighting, and you crossed over to where I was. you held my hand.

“let’s get out of here,” you said.

I knew just the place — an old dock overlooking a small pond. my brother was there. I introduced you, but you quickly corrected me, stating that your last name was, in fact, a fabrication. you didn’t elaborate. you didn’t have to. you were beautiful.

virtual age

2011-05-27T17:26:00.002-04:00

With my youngest granddaughter turning one in a few days, it’s time to recalculate my virtual age. For those just tuning in, add the ages of your children and grandchildren to your own to get a sense of just how old you feel psychically.

Doing the math: 51 + 28 + 26 + 25 + 22 + 19 + 4 + 2 + 2 + 1 = 180.

Yup — just about right...

dream sequence - part 21

2011-04-25T09:56:00.002-04:00

I was attending a one-day Creative Writing workshop. The class met on the stage of a large auditorium, cluttered with broken spotlights and discarded manuscripts. I sat next to a nervous young woman who was muttering incoherently under her breath.

A middle-aged woman strode confidently into the room. In a booming voice she announced “You are a female comic. Tomorrow you are headlining at ’Catch a Rising Star’ for the very first time. Don’t think — just write. You have five minutes.”

I wrote. In 24 hours I will be standing in front of 400 people I’ve never met, and I will be funny. I will be loose and relaxed, on top of my game. I’ve worked for this. I will leave nothing to chance. One-night stands: check. Late periods: check. The names men give to their body parts: check. I know I’m going to kill.

“This is impossible,” my neighbor said to no one in particular. I ignored her.

First things first — coffee. I know I should have woken up hours ago, but my hangover won that argument. That guy who was hitting on me last night was definitely cute, but I'm glad I left when I did.

My neighbor looked at my paper and asked bluntly “what are you writing?”

“I’m writing the story of your life.”

She was not amused.

“I’m writing the first thing that comes to my head before I have a chance to think about it.”

“But that’s bullshit.”

“Write that it’s bullshit. Write that it’s impossible. That’s what this is all about.”

A light went on in her head.

“Time’s up!”

dream sequence - part 20

2011-04-10T10:25:00.003-04:00

I was lucid enough to know that I was still working for my current employer in New England, but I had no idea why I was in Chicago, much less why I was showing up at my Uncle’s office building at 3 in the morning. A line had already formed outside for the grand opening of a Café on the ground floor of the building. The chef’s name and cartoon-like image had been freshly painted on the glass for all to see.

Once I realized what was happening, I pushed past the crowd and into the main lobby of the building. The guard was surprised to see me — that’s if he could see me at all. His eyes had no pupils or irises — I could see only the white of his eyes. Very creepy. He called my uncle at home to get permission for me to enter the building, checked my identification (apparently), and let me through.

I stood in my Uncle’s high-rise office and basked in the view of downtown Chicago at night. Then I found a place to plug in my laptop and got down to work.

Fast-forward to lunch time. Apparently I’ve bonded with my co-workers, who don’t seem at all surprised to see me there. The badge I brought from my current employer seems to be recognized by the security staff and the card readers alike. Stranger still, I have yet to see my Uncle. Walking through the office with some of my new comrades, I notice that the Chef/Owner of the new Café is standing at the entrance of the dining area holding a stack of menus — and that the Café is empty...

spring snow

2011-03-21T17:32:00.002-04:00

spring snow —
waving to my youngest grandchild
on Skype

spring snow —
clearing off the windshield
with my baseball glove

spring snow —
the cactus
is unmoved

spring snow —
all the projects
I’ve never finished

spring snow —
I stare at my footprints
and sigh

spring snow —
the dog doesn’t
understand

haiku from Bequia

2011-03-06T16:32:00.002-05:00

I wrote these haiku in Bequia, an island in St. Vincent and the Grenadines. Most are arguably senryu as opposed to haiku, but who’s quibbling? I’ll also readily admit that many of these fall under the category “You Had to Be There”, in which case I heartily recommend a visit.

tropical night —
the low rider’s
throbbing bass

as if I had to ask
the peppers in this hot sauce
are “Rasta peppers”

ex-pat cover band —
do they know that Guantanamera
is a protest song?

about hot sauce
the taxi driver says
“nothing tastes right without it”

Lower Bay —
a man named Messenger
brings me a beer

seaside dining —
the blackbird
snatches a fly

wake-up call —
the taxi toots its horn
at the top of the hill

beachside bar —
drinking
it all in

tropical sunset —
my thoughts
an infinite horizon

Lower Bay lights —
a giant cruise ship
exits the harbor

tropical night —
somewhere in the distance
a howling dog

where are we?
Elvis plays “As Time Goes By”
on the steel drum

twilight —
a lizard perched
on an aloe leaf

tropical rain —
the mourning doves
silent

after the rain
a mist
of mosquitoes

our last full day —
what I wouldn’t trade
for this trade wind

taxiing to the runway
the pilot skillfully avoids
the baby goats

first night back
I pretend the dog’s snoring
is the ocean

just taking it all in

2011-03-01T11:20:00.003-05:00

After finding myself on a bit of a roll with my haiku writing over the past few months, I’m about as surprised as anyone that my well runneth dry while vacationing here in Bequia. Heck, I was even able to write about the departure lounge at Logan Airport on the day we left, but once we arrived in a place where I finally had plenty of time on my hands, nada. It’s not like Bequia is lacking in inspiration — quite the contrary — I’m just having a difficult time acclimating to the vocabulary necessary to describe yachts instead of snowdrifts. Rather than viewing my current dilemma as writer’s block, I’d like to think I’m just taking it all in. There will be weeks and months to reflect upon the seven days we spend here, after which I am fully confident that the words will come.

as if I had to ask —
the peppers in this hot sauce
are rasta peppers

a cloudy sort of day

2011-02-13T13:20:00.003-05:00

All of these are at least ten years old, but could have easily been written today:

waiting for her call
I stare
at thunderclouds

sudden cloudburst —
the street puddles
join hands

thickening clouds —
a steady downpour
of beer

playing catch with my sons
...not a cloud in the sky

unrecognized
by an old friend —
clouds without rain

sunny spring day —
walking through a cloud
of perfume

disappearing into a cloudless sky a child’s balloon

2011-01-18T22:18:00.000-05:00

snow turns to rain —
a familiar name
in the obituary

snow turns to rain —
the afterglow
of the plow lights

snow turns to rain —
words
I can’t take back

2011-01-10T16:28:00.000-05:00

winter twilight —
a ladybug lands
on the wood stove

winter twilight —
a crow flies
into shadow

winter twilight —
I don’t remember ever
being that young

dream sequence - part 19

2011-01-06T08:15:00.001-05:00

a familiar dilemma — waking up on a train in an unfamiliar town.
the crumbling facade of the station spoke of better days,
and the spacious new stadium brought back dreams of baseball,
but I was suddenly pre-occupied by the prospect of getting back home.
moments later I woke up in the passenger seat of a taxi,
speeding through the back roads of an old mill town.
“where are you taking me?” I asked.

dream sequence - part 18

2011-01-04T10:28:00.002-05:00

I was hoping to be in and out, and that no one would even notice that I had left the house. Just when I had worked up the nerve to pass on some tempting snacks, the skies opened up. I thought I’d go outside to wait out the storm, but some smokers had gathered under the overhang, so instead I hovered in a small seating area, trying to look inconspicuous.

It was then that he spoke — not so much to me as to anyone within the sound of his voice: “That’s Colossus. Came from out of nowhere.”

He was staring at an ominous black cloud directly overhead. The building shook from the wind, and the rain fell relentlessly.

“She looks a lot like Lefty, but Lefty tends to develop slowly and stick around. Colossus does her damage and takes off. Before you know it, she’s gone.”

2011-01-03T12:27:00.001-05:00

moonless night —
to have died
so young...

moonless night —
I never know
what to say

moonless night —
a child’s bicycle
in the snow

2010-12-31T08:59:00.000-05:00

restless morning —
the winter fly
comes back to life

2010-12-29T03:18:00.001-05:00

restless night —
somewhere
an ice dam...

restless night —
the kiss
that never was

2010-12-27T10:01:00.000-05:00

snow day —
more white than I remember
in my beard

2010-12-25T22:18:00.000-05:00

Christmas cocktail —
the children build an igloo
in an old photograph

2010-12-22T15:23:00.000-05:00

footprints in the snow
words
I can’t take back

nine (for mmm)

2010-12-17T09:21:00.001-05:00

it is the square
of a perfect prime,
one more than infinity
forced to stand straight up.
it shoots a longing glance
toward the river
of so many secrets.
it is the intersection
of two importantly dangerous highways.
it is a dark and lonely road.
it is our home.

2010-12-16T22:23:00.000-05:00

cold moon —
the snap of a twig
under my boot

2010-12-12T17:17:00.000-05:00

December rain —
the long night
longer

2010-12-11T15:23:00.002-05:00

two weeks before Christmas
the search
for the broken bulb

2010-12-10T21:24:00.000-05:00

snow flurries —
the crackle
of an old 78

written aboard the Acela Express

2010-12-08T12:25:00.001-05:00

just outside New Haven
the junkers piled
three high

New London winter —
the gleam of pleasure boats
wrapped in plastic

now reaching top speed
the conductor reminds us
to read the safety card

winter chill —
shredded plastic
in a barbed wire fence

2010-12-07T10:27:00.000-05:00

lazy midtown morning —
another layer of paint
on the rusty fire escape

lazy midtown morning —
do those green copper gargoyles
feel the cold?

2010-12-04T15:29:00.000-05:00

new moon —
my eldest grandchild
turns four

2010-12-01T11:30:00.000-05:00

first of December —
the darkness
before dawn

first of December —
police tape clinging
to a burned-out barn

first of December —
another cold cup
of coffee

2010-11-30T14:31:00.000-05:00

winter clouds —
my gray hair
grayer

2010-11-29T22:57:00.000-05:00

last day of November —
I surrender
to Solitaire

last day of November —
the white noise lullaby
of the Turnpike

2010-11-29T17:46:00.001-05:00

Cyber Monday —
a wireless mouse
in the pantry

2010-11-27T16:44:00.000-05:00

November dusk —
do the streetlights know
how early it is?

November dusk —
fair weather clouds
above the bare treetops

November dusk —
the warmth
of a familiar song

2010-11-26T10:26:00.000-05:00

Black Friday —
bare branches
filled with crows

Black Friday —
the season’s first
Christmas card

2010-11-21T11:58:00.001-05:00

November sky —
a jet plume
fades into blue

November sky —
I used to remember
which planet that was

2010-11-19T12:01:00.000-05:00

clear skies —
a solitary crow
on a high-voltage wire

2010-11-17T12:00:00.000-05:00

a break in the clouds —
my third cup of coffee
grows cold

2010-11-15T13:09:00.000-05:00

overcast —
just one more game
of solitaire

2010-11-10T08:56:00.001-05:00

more rain —
a mouse trapped
between walls

2010-11-07T17:48:00.000-05:00

snow in the forecast —
the white
in my dog’s muzzle

snow in the forecast —
tapping my foot
to a sad song

2010-10-07T23:52:00.000-04:00

new moon —
an abandoned car
on lover’s lane

new moon —
a missing
mouse trap

new moon —
the cat’s eyes
when the dog walks by

is the lighthouse beacon
searching
for the new moon?

new moon —
the mouse in the ceiling
awakens

2010-10-04T17:58:00.000-04:00

October chill —
pitchers and catchers report
in 132 days

2010-09-23T22:26:00.000-04:00

full moon —
the grandchildren
I’ve never met

full moon —
I remember
that promise

full moon —
for a fraction of a second
I’m flying

2010-09-22T21:48:00.001-04:00

autumn equinox —
my baseball glove
right where I left it

they say...

2010-09-15T10:47:00.001-04:00

they say you’re only as old as you feel. in my case add my age to the age of my children and grandchildren and you should be close. 175 — sounds just about right...

2010-09-14T09:57:00.000-04:00

a break in the clouds —
my grandson
calls me “Papa”

2010-09-03T16:52:00.001-04:00

storm in the forecast
a late-night text message

storm in the forecast
someone mentions
my ex-wife’s name

storm in the forecast
I balance my checkbook

storm in the forecast
the dog pacing
back and forth

storm in the forecast
my dream
interrupted

2010-08-25T11:55:00.001-04:00

slow steady rain —
a limp
I hadn’t noticed before

dream sequence - part 17

2010-08-18T22:42:00.002-04:00

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a dream sequence here, but it doesn’t mean that I haven’t been dreaming. Lately my dreams have been subconscious fragments, lacking a coherent narrative as such. Well-rested, I could fashion them into a chaotic tapestry of sorts, but instead I awaken startled — anything but refreshed — and the shards fall to the ground, waiting to be trampled into dust.

I digress. A few nights ago I found myself in Madrid, rushing to get to the airport. I was last in Madrid in 1976, and my dream-Madrid was nothing like it. My friend and I were dropped off at the far end of a giant field that separated us from the main terminal. He took off in a sprint, and I followed close behind. Our flight was scheduled to depart at 7:30, and we were cutting it close.

An hour and a half later, I was alone at the terminal. My laptop was missing from my backpack, and I was frantic. The terminal was a surreal concatenation of small-city commuter air outposts and high-tech travel pods. Between terminals a motorized walkway was replaced by a series of vents that allowed travelers to float above the floor toward their destination. I was not impressed.

I woke up before the dream came to a conclusion. For all I know, I’m still in Bizarro-Madrid, minus laptop, minus a flight home, floating in destinationless climate-controlled circles.

2010-08-14T23:04:00.001-04:00

I got to play DJ on my favorite radio station today. Specifically, I was given an hour to spin tunes on the James Dean Deathcar Experience on WMBR in Cambridge, MA. It was an absolute blast!

By popular demand, I’ve reproduced the playlist:

Public Image Limited - Public Image
Ash - Kung Fu
Beatnik Filmstars - Look Up and Be Amazed
60 Foot Dolls - Talk to Me
Moped - Global Probing
Mission of Burma - That’s How I Escaped My Certain Fate
Rob Crow - I Hate You Rob Crow
The And/Ors - Screams Nicole
Pooh Sticks - The World is Turning On
Sloan - G Turns to D
Spinanes - Sunday
Marmoset - Blooms
The Kings - This Beat Goes On / Switchin’ to Glide
Cramps - Sunglasses After Dark
Robert Pollard - Roofer’s Union Fighting Song
Luka Bloom - Delirious
Robyn Hitchcock - Uncorrected Personality Traits
Guided By Voices - Postal Blowfish
Boo Radleys - Wake Up Boo
Haywood - Button Up Buttercup
Los Straitjackets - Pacifica
Buzzcocks - Walking Distance

A podcast of the entire hour can be found right here.

dialogue from a dream

2010-08-04T06:52:00.001-04:00

You: I want to see Obama with a coyote.
Me: Doesn’t everyone?

2010-08-01T14:20:00.000-04:00

blue dragonfly —
do you bring me news
or are you just being?

2010-07-29T22:45:00.001-04:00

a scar in the ground where the old oak used to be

2010-07-28T10:14:00.000-04:00

waning moon —
a hand-printed sign reads:
“lost dog”

waning moon —
I catch my breath
at the top of the stairs

waning moon —
I know I’m forgetting
something...

2010-07-21T09:46:00.000-04:00

sudden chill —
an empty bird feeder
outside the nursing home

2010-07-20T14:41:00.000-04:00

on her balcony
a beautiful bouquet
I’d love to toss

2010-07-13T22:49:00.001-04:00

restless night —
the old dog twitching
in our bed

restless night —
a tree frog
in and out of tune

2010-07-08T15:35:00.000-04:00

heat wave —
the dog moves slowly
from shadow to shadow

2010-07-05T18:59:00.001-04:00

stifling heat —
our new neighbors’
argument

2010-06-29T09:55:00.001-04:00

morning haze —
one light rinse of the coffee cup
is good enough

2010-06-25T09:03:00.001-04:00

hot summer night —
the dog’s breath
against my leg

2010-06-10T21:49:00.000-04:00

after the rain
a light on in the basement
of an empty house

2010-06-07T23:09:00.000-04:00

June cold snap
the next-door neighbor’s
house for sale

2010-06-04T18:42:00.000-04:00

June haze —
the dog ignores
a taunting squirrel

2010-06-02T20:15:00.000-04:00

June sunshine —
the cop lets me off
with a warning

2010-05-31T23:51:00.000-04:00

Memorial Day —
stars obscured
by distant smoke

2010-05-30T16:36:00.001-04:00

red dragonfly —
my newest granddaughter’s
tiny fingers

2010-05-22T18:43:00.000-04:00

swarm of gnats —
a harmonica solo
from a scratchy LP

swarm of gnats —
my beer
the color of sunset

swarm of gnats —
the dog scratches
at the door

swarm of gnats —
the snap of a fastball
in the catcher’s mitt

2010-05-21T17:46:00.001-04:00

finally Friday —
the dog so attentive
around the grill

or...

the dog
so attentive
around the grill

2010-05-15T10:30:00.001-04:00

restless morning —
what is that mockingbird saying?

2010-05-10T07:47:00.000-04:00

May frost —
even my eyebrows
are turning gray

May frost —
I’m sure she heard me
say hello

May frost —
the hoarseness
in my dog’s bark

2010-05-07T16:37:00.001-04:00

May flowers —
my granddaughters’
matching dresses

2010-05-06T16:39:00.001-04:00

The Dow plummets —
a cockroach
in my Greek salad

2010-04-27T23:11:00.001-04:00

cold April rain —
and it’s only
Tuesday

cold April rain —
the dog sniffs
everything

cold April rain —
why do I
live here?

cold April rain —
I no longer remember
your name

cold April rain —
my daughter’s birthday
on another continent

cold April rain —
the sediment
at the bottom
of a wine glass

2010-04-26T22:41:00.000-04:00

slow steady drizzle —
I didn’t hear
your question

2010-04-18T23:04:00.000-04:00

moving day —
a photo of the ex
worn around the edges

2010-04-16T08:48:00.000-04:00

weeping cherry blossoms —
a late-season snow shower

2010-04-08T22:30:00.000-04:00

overcast
the spider doesn’t know
it’s cheap wine

2010-04-03T10:32:00.000-04:00

morning
ladybugs
everywhere

2010-03-31T18:57:00.001-04:00

after the rain —
the tiniest puddle
in my wine glass

dream sequence - Part 16

2010-03-29T08:26:00.002-04:00

I used to work here, but I didn’t come back to renew old acquaintances. It was after hours, and all of the technical staff had gone home for the day, leaving the second shift meandering the long, dark hallways. It looked largely unchanged, endless institutional green walls and speckled gray linoleum floors. My old office was on the furthest side of the sprawling compound. It looked remarkably similar to the way I had left it, except that it was far more cramped and cluttered, and the two analysts’ desks had been replaced with beds. After closing the door behind us, I threw down my briefcase and collapsed on the closest one. You followed suit, your innocent laugh quickly unwrapping itself into a seductive kiss.

There was a knock on the door, which opened up without so much as a word from either of us. A familiar face poked in. “Oh, you’re back,” he said.
“Not back to stay,” I corrected him, “just back in town. I thought I’d show my colleague our posh digs.”

I gave a hasty introduction, trying to radiate my annoyance and impatience. You, of course, were a good sport throughout.

And then people kept showing up — some of them known to me, but most of them strangers. I didn’t think there were that many people still in the building at this hour.

An elaborate prayer circle formed outside our door. When enough people had gathered, they streamed into the office. Half of them lay on the bed on their backs, kicking their legs in a synchronized dance. The rest joined hands and danced in a circle. You and I were caught up in it — I was growing furious, while you remained good-natured and amused.

The dancing stopped. A tiny woman confronted me. “You have to stop what you’re doing. It’s wrong.”
“I will,” I replied, more as a reflex than anything else.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I do.”
“Do you want me?” she asked with a wry smile.
“No,” I replied, without hesitation.
She winked, smiled and squeezed my hand.
“So I hear you used to work here.”
“Word travels fast.”
“You have no idea.”
“Why do you think I left?”

A former co-worker led a small group of engineers into the office, which was now overflowing with people. “I just tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up.”
“I can’t imagine why I couldn’t hear the phone,” I said with an obviously magnified volume. People began filing out one by one. The conversation started turning seriously technical. I wasn’t in the mood.
“If you give me your business card, I can send you some white papers that aren’t on the website.” That seemed to get a faint response. “But it will have to wait until tomorrow.”

They took the hint. Pretty soon it was just the two of us, and now I couldn’t wait to leave. As I locked the door behind me, you gave me a long, comforting hug. The emergency exit sign glimmered in your eyes. You were impossibly sweet.

2010-03-23T23:10:00.000-04:00

tropical sun —
a wild horse
unafraid of my horn

Dream Sequence - Part 15

2010-03-23T22:49:00.000-04:00

Apparently we were back on friendly terms — not the case in real life — and you were in need regarding your former house. The most recent owners had worked wonders with it — resurfacing hardwood floors, replacing intricate woodwork and repainting tastefully throughout — but they were mysteriously no longer in the picture, and you — somehow — were. Except that you weren’t, and that’s where I came in. Confused? So was I. Then I woke up.

2010-03-20T15:06:00.000-04:00

Blue Beach —
vines encircle
the barbed wire

2010-03-02T23:19:00.001-05:00

going out of business —
the naked mannequin’s
Mardi Gras beads

2010-03-01T22:57:00.000-05:00

full moon
if not
for these clouds

2010-02-25T21:15:00.001-05:00

winter wind —
the dog shivers
in its sleep

winter wind —
trying to imagine
it’s the ocean