RHYTHM IS THE INSTRUMENT

Every morning, walking  in silence, when the ache  of my plainness seems  to flare up anew,  that same tawny female  cardinal harkens, with ...

Cut down your family tree; make kindling  out of memory, because each day you live will demand the sacrifice  of at least one small defeat. ...

The reddest  cardinal in the greenest  fern tree as the sun  is dragged, kicking  and screaming toward the west; a streak of geese whose str...

All you need is love , they said— and, as the Earth's  rotation slows, one might hasten to add— supposing  that  the wolves  have been r...

What if time  wasn't time,  but the flow of information  from the five starving senses to a full- to-bursting mind?  And space,  the las...

Dreamt I went  to a workshop taught by my reflection.  He said, in order to be a poet,  you must ask the right questions. What is nostalgia?...

If lies  make baby  Jesus cry,  what would  make him  laugh—the truth? Would shyness  soothe? Or  verbal abuse?  Mirth is not  a thing  to c...