Category: writing

at the edge of mid-

at the edge of mid-
night, we cling to each other
more tightly than a

sinner to his gods – not until
dawn’s early light do we repent

once in awhile, here

some moments carry

we are always an

i don’t know how to

i don’t know how to
be a proper human, i make
little notes on how

to conduct myself, scratch out
wins, circle losses with a

bruised marker, i catch
myself staring at myself,
there’s no turning back

remember i told

remember i told
you there is only zen when
you stop searching – it’s

more like a leaning into the
wind to stay still, for a moment

summer catches on