The world fades away. I am a pair of eyes until my cats snuggle with me. I am nestled in a forest of worries and my failures I am unable to lift from our shoulders. Still, he loves me.   I write and rewrite. Taking…

2, 4, 6, 8 We were the team they would always appreciate Facing our team meant an automatic win Then we were forced to shake hands and smile no matter how bad it had been Our team sitting at dead last Getting destroyed game after…

April Crack of the bat Smell of the glove Feel the scarlet stitching Brown stained white sphere Handed the mask And the gear Behind the plate Can never show fear Running drills Day after day Constantly dirty baseball cleats Never will forget that baseball year

There was a young man named Mark Twain He whitewashed a fence on the plain He found it great fun To be in the hot sun For reasons I cannot explain

“Happy birthday to you…” Sung by friends and family Smiling awkwardly Sitting there and waiting Watching as the flame eats more and more of his wax meal “Happy birthday to you..” 11 going on to 12 One last year of being a kid Before the…

out of the fog’s hush, a moonbeam I filled a canteen with coffee went out to the concrete dock under the fir shelf fungi like ladder rungs climbed up its trunk damn! was all I could think silently gloating in my solitude

The coffee at the canteen’s no damn good, you know I think the supplier slipped the kitchen super a bag of cement mixed with topsoil— you’d think they’d have figured it out when the shelf collapsed under the weight of the sack But no, they…

Well, damn, didn’t the fog descend so quickly that morning? It draped the little house and the fir trees in its mist and I felt such a peace in that hush, alone, drinking my coffee at that tiny kitchen table, blissfully and tragically unaware of…

Why did I do I do this? Was it because I thought I could deliver some creative justice To a world that is hurting, its black and blue bruises starting to show through? What made me think my voice could change anything? What words could…

summer always makes me nostalgic; i find myself sitting on a bench on a dock somewhere wishing it was last year already (last year you and i were still a thing, even if it was pathetic). i remember touching you, i touched your golden soul…