All I know is new beginnings. That’s what I told him in my latest attempt to avoid the possibility of heartache, like ever. It’s like, if I cut my own arm off it won’t hurt as bad. I will still be in control. Everything is water and matter, water and matter. Work is matter, rest… Read More Yin
In writing I worry I have said too much, too little I capitalize on the funny parts the sick parts the sad parts the parts half worth anything to anyone (likely not) I leave out how my Dad religiously kissed my forehead every morning before school or that friends parents often said “we can’t afford… Read More Mantra for the Sane
Old poem, old photo, newly paired, never shared: But I’m Not Perfect Yet Why the shampoos with promising poems “You’ve really got it now” “Not your mommas hair-do” “Beautiful, luscious, supremely clean” Why all the claims and things in the ads we see I know some who can take it or leave it— and why… Read More But I’m Not Perfect Yet
Poetry Reading at Barnes & Noble Eugene (above) 1163 Valley River Drive Eugene, Oregon March 12, 2017 ___ I am pleased to remind my friends and readers of this low key poetry reading event at Eugene’s Barnes & Noble. With the Eugene Poetry Foundation as our platform, my cousin Crystal Gasser and I will be… Read More Poetry Reading at Eugene’s Barnes & Noble March 12th at 3 p.m.
My emotional makeup is running. fushia-colored need blossoms falsely on my cheeks while neon strikes of pencil glow in a most unfavorable way on my eyes and lining my lips I am drooling down my chin, which is caving. The more I paint my outside the more my inside suffers, ignored. The more pain the more paint, it… Read More Seen/Hidden
The hole inside of you does exist but it is a vessel for goodness and care not a dumping ground for excuses and addictions “What are you trying to forget?” I once asked a man who drank too much (according to me, mind you) “What? Me? Nothing.” Oh. The hole inside of you may be… Read More The Hole
In real life sticky black ink pools at the tip of my writing pen it bleeds onto my fingernail–the ugly one that was slammed in the front door I lick my fingernail, wipe it on my sleeve but the ink stays, it cannot be deleted– which almost surprises me. I stare at the page. my handwriting is… Read More IRL