Category Archives: Updates

therefore, I have made myself a poet by insisting I am a poet after years of insisting I wasn’t a poet even though I did know it back then when I kept insisting I was just a guy who wrote … Continue reading →

  If Beale Street could talk would America listen? Maybe if she sang. New Orleans gave birth in bloody cobblestone blues to beat black rhythms  that blew up the cool Big-Muddy Jazz river, Sweet Home Chicago style. B. B., Howlin’ … Continue reading →

vertical bars on the window colored flashing lights piles of newsprint cigarette smoke billows outside a small stack of books poetry on the sill intermittent hammering in the steam radiator the alley-scape latticed with poles and power lines snow covers … Continue reading →

the long night sips the chaos of the day shapers rape the dream- time dark that stew stirring fat witchery brewing jack boots coming closer doors slamming overhead they cower in the basement signal from the shadows sweating and shivering … Continue reading →

sorry i didn’t call couldn’t force myself to pick . . up . . that . . fucking phone should’ve done that on the weekend but i’ve gotten through this shit before   didn’t work this time timing is everything … Continue reading →

My son’s thirtieth birthday. His mother turns sixty next week, and her mother, eighty, is coming to celebrate the dawn of the decades with us, them, me, and my other son who turns twenty-seven in April close to his brother’s … Continue reading →

Mornin’ Glory your cheery poem forced me to polish my rose colored lenses and watch some football maybe sip a glass of beer consider the whiskey anything but the fear pressing my lungs and heart flat as the lack of … Continue reading →

The doctors gave him six months six years ago. They called it a fiendishly aggressive melanoma,   eating away at his face and jaw. Each morning he packs the wound with cotton, applies the flesh   toned bandage — Phantom … Continue reading →

Sometimes the weight of the pen is too much to pick up, a rusted rail embedded in the ground,   so you keep going, walking, looking and listening for words to lift those bodies buried in your chest   as if … Continue reading →

When I go traveling in my mind to get away from shit, I climb the mountain above Alberton, scramble up to it—the meadow that sits atop those sheer cliffs overlooking the Clark Fork River. Only game trails lead there—each approach … Continue reading →