arbitrary numbers

lazily counting down one hundred thousand words.
because writing's a craft, and i need the practice.
photos every now and then.

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prose | poetry | fiction | photography


61450 - Fatigue

I lay fast on my mattress
hands taut as rubber  

the springs sigh for every night
you cried as I slept 

it’s a quiet sobriety 
on the first day of fall.

61481 - Bon

Staring down the city
with a harried energy, 
down to the quick of my nails

I’m headed for the tollway 
on a sawdust morning
running on fumes, running 
through the ledger 
of what you’re owed. 


At the edge of a cliff we embraced
until the tremors knocked us loose.
That city, the city, is a powder keg
my hope is you see it soon.

61545 - doors will close when they see you

We are smoking Cohibas on a balcony
and I see cuts on your sunset hands.
"Wanted to throw off my palmist," 
you said, and I laughed.

Your voice is salt on a Michigan bridge,
when you read Exodus from a Gideon bible
the verses leave your lips like dust
kicked up by matted slippers. 

Believe me, someone will fall to the depths 
of loving you, even when your skin
is candlelight because one morning, 
when I said I’d drive to Denny’s
you said, “Nah, not unless they serve gin.”
and we laughed.


Son, I first thought of you at nineteen.
You were strong and kind and I saw you, dreaming
wrapped in a sea of white linen and anchors.
Your skin will be stained by the equator,
i pray you won’t spite me for it.

61680 - The Strange Night

He roots deep, clearing the canopy
between your split branches,
seeds falling into the willing moss.
before morning, someone will come
to collect them in a ziploc bag
but in this dim, pulpy darkness
ever briefly, you blossom.