Isis: elegy to my cat who's still with me or, my lesbian lover II. Like autumn bears the brunt of winter yet to come -- ambritch, scratch those strictures! sharpen, shorten your claws! on the loose pine of my first dining room mostly banished to my office -- She will not eat. I grant her the lions' share of all protein sharpen my knife to slender the sashimi I want to eat it glob the jellied to treat you in. He said we we...

My keyboard doesn't seem to be working properly. For someone like me, who types all the time, that ain't a good thing. It's downright annoying, actually. When I get on a roll, I tend to bash it really hard and quick. That almost sounds like a euphemism, but it ain't. Though, that is true too. Don't mind me, I'm just rabbiting. I fancy duck today, or at some point when I'm awake again. I'll have duck and perhaps a... Huh....

I thought I would share this piece, travels and travails in search of the Cleveland Amtrak station, written in response to an invitation from an advocacy group to review the station from the perspective of those with disabilities. Although unsuccessful in attaining the original goal (a first-hand review of the facility), the description earned an unexpected, generous "expense stipend" I'd prefer to tally under "freelance...

This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.She walks the world with heavy beauty,Never seeing decadence in her curves;Eyes regard her lively, loving,In sumptuous angles ofLaughter and satinThat tie her soul in a strong-willed bowAgainst the pain that breaks her heartAnd holds her heart in sorrows pastAnd fears so present,Where words are growing and overflowingTo share he...

Oh dear! I've caught the writing bug. It seems a bad disease.  But, it doesn't make me cough and it doesn't make me sneeze!  I do not have a fever; it seems there's no injection . My throat it isn't sore; there isn't an infection. I didn't catch it from from a cup, or even from a kiss. It seems the bug is here to stay, there is no end to this! I try to get some sleep, but words keep dancing in my head. I get up to get a d...

I see beauty everywhere in old faces  grown gentle or embittered with storied lines around the mouth deepset eyes look out on the bones of the earth basalt dozing titans apt to awaken momentarily to quake leaves from tresses tangled in turning over I hear beauty in flavours composed from memory reconstructing a place  where complex music once played and again, am really there I smelt beauty in ionised air plinking into st...

the soil is turned under and over the cycling suns to moons fed with loving refuse composted experience the careful rows weeded of unnecessary baggage weathered accomplices encouraging, well-timed grants of moisture and the precise moment of commitment seals off endless unrolling futures prunes the branching for a path from the root to the best fruit pay attention, now don't dither while hypnotically stilled the vine may...

inside  introspective reflection  in attentive mindfulness steaming bland instant coffee a censor streaming in sense ecstatic Red Scorpions entailed in a monk's cell what am I gonna do with my life not so clever now listening in readiness to hear what is required next tuning in, turning in to bells, mandolin, silence in breaking stasis  with reinforced waves in surmounting Fail Harder! in my clarion call  intrepid, intemp...

Coach B is the Quiet Coach. It is a good place to think, to reflect and from which to draw inspiration. It is a silent movie and my mind writes the title cards. I always travel in Coach B, though it is always at the far end of the platform. For four and a half hours, it is my high-speed cocoon in which complete anonymity is mine for the taking. I smile as I board; I like this place. Though I travel alone, I book a table s...

Once upon a time lived a girl, A beautiful soul with talent.One felt she was a perfect pearl,That writing was her true outlet. She studied artists she could findIn the finest books in the land. She dreamed of expressing her mindWith the truest thoughts at hand. After living a life of pain  She found solace in her own soul. With nothing to lose, all to gain, She offered her heart with no goal.She spun the truth like a weav...

You will not pour ice on my mic Just because my lesson burns You’re not allowed to shame me‘cause your mind's too closed to learn I refuse to change my words around Or remove a single phrase‘cause my message is a mirror That reflects your naked face Race, religion, vices, or violence If it colors our existence Then my voice shall not be silent Still, you challenge my words And you work to smear and smother But what salts...

in response to 3 comments for Alhambra by the same author, excerpted below: " . . . cooled the hot Andalucian sun and carried it off into arched spaces shaded like the olive trees we would eat paella . . . ""My angel is merciless to dream in perfect whispersshe shushes me to heaven with less than definitionan infinite elation within flashes of desperationnot sparing me a notion of deliverance from fascinationhunger wings...

in response to the following lovely comment left for languid (mornin', Sweeting):"my fingers slid down the natural gradientstretching the skin in all the more sensitivefelt as a soft moan might pad on a sheetintent on some scheme or huntfor the indistinct hollownested in foam shallowsI grip your sparrow tailin serene slow motionbut sleep slips through to stilltake flightan action which escapes into inactionwhen a feather...

Purple nails, they clack along the keyboard.Typing this tripe, listening to Metallica,Chatty chat, I go. My replies may be slow,You know? Running out of rhymes, so I’m not gonna.I’ll just type stuff, no idea of what’s coming,Quick change that loathsome track!Correct that spelling mistake,Reply to that IM! Hey, turn Jason’s bass up!Ah, my punctuation messed up there. Corrected.I kinda wanna smoke, but I’m giving up. Health...

She lay across the naked twin mattress That was haphazardly placed on the floor Propping up her notebook on her bare, bony knees Scribbling random words; trying to make them say moreWords and the wonders she could create with them Had always been her true friends They provided an escape from a lonely existence And gifted her a peace few things didThe soft amber glow from two half-burned candles Were her lone companions an...