the one where #lovewins
"Freedom of Intimacy is abridged rather than expanded by marriage. Ask the nearest hippie." Well, I am a happy hippie today, Scalia. If I am ever nearby, I will be very happy to explain to you how marriage has expanded my freedom, especially of intimacy....
a poem: blue face red face
There are days when I can't shake it, that suspicion that all the world wants is to take things away. Days when only poetry keeps me in balance. Days when even the full, yellow sunshine of our star isn't enough, when the light disappears and I'm pulled too far into...
the one where i’m trained to follow
It has been a spring full of travel. Thanks to the luxuries of a Southwest Companion Pass and work I can do from anywhere with a wifi signal, I've already hit Tampa, Dallas and Denver. Right now, we're en route west to Phoenix for two weeks of on-the-ground travel...
the one with your stupid f***ing wedding
If you're hearing strains of Carly Simon right about now, you are welcome to go ahead and assure yourself that I'm not talking about you, specifically, if that's what you need, because really I'm talking about everyone and no one at the same time. I'm talking about...
a poem: some state of wanting
No one writes love poems anymore. I mean, tonight I'm texting you emoticons while I drive frantically from one job to another. I'm not chewing thoughtfully on a quill, my inkstained fingers scratching out, rewriting, perfecting couplets by lamplight. Although life...
a poem: strange brew
As Halloween passed and fall fell You left me again for some far city maybe emerald or steel or some other heady, glinting promise energy lofting skyward the dreams of man progress and potential. You left and I unpacked my lamentations to keep me company. Here in my...
a poem: the drive over the dam
He was a man now, no escaping that. We both were grown, in spite of ourselves and we knew better, knowing ourselves and knew worse, too. We knew of worse. Which is the why of the affair: why the late nights early mornings desperate fumblings and driving sleepily...
a poem: Compass
Compass In the third week, little signs started marking my heart's place on the map. Lines drawn between them, meandering like your hand along my spine when you bent to kiss my shoulderblade. Kissing Cape Town, then Egypt, this exotic and foreign visitor entering into...
a poem: On love, in Mississippi
On love, in Mississippi I'm always in love driving to Mississippi the sun like a blanket or your hand I love the alternatives the sun and your hand juxtaposed making me choose the Tennessee river stretched out below me a mirror while I thought of you and it sparkled...