A question without an answer— Ivory towers a space full of hardbacks fills the brim of satchels struggling to stay stitched together Attempts at knitting theories the promise of “the Answer, enticing academics towards the trap with cheddar cheese A thirst that won’t quench no…

They buried a seed and thought it would die Not realizing it was a Sunflower and It would push through the soil and shine I fell from a brown satchel, carried by farmer Ted, Trampled into the ground and in that space I stayed, grew…

“But did you notice the flowers?” asked the man who stopped to help me fix the flat on my bike after I had complained how my ride had been ruined. I hadn’t. I had biked nearly fifty miles churning hips pounding the pedals eyes steady…

Lumbering down the pavement, Satchel in hand, Insides wrapped in tangles of pain. Or was it just hunger, nothing was gained. “Ah, a welcomed café. With space for me!” She chose the oak one. A hardback chair at the table with a sunflower cloth. “Please bring…

The sunflowers seemed to dance as she stared at their beauty through her tilted wine glass.  She drew in the oak like aromas before taking her last sip. With her eyes closed, she was taken back to her trip to the vineyards.  She vowed to…

Art of Noise on Sirius is punctuated by passing cars and the same unhelmeted motorcycle driver who boomerangs this street every hour. Morning has shifted from shy sunflower to clear and stridently hot pale blue noon. My mental satchel is packed without an itinerary apart…

I had begun to fade in the unseasonal heat and asked the tour guide if we could not spend too much time viewing the outdoor sculpture installation under her watchful eye. My brother erupted in anger and embarrassment, hissing “oh, jeez” at me under his…

nails in a dusty bin rattling like chimes in the rich lady’s basement i touch things that haven’t been touched in years. tottering in high heels, red spilling from   my wine glass. fascinated by this space; a museum of mundane beneath a sprawling mansion….

Stuck there for Days Unknown Stuck there like a sponge. The viscous walls closing in, unknown, unaware. Cracks in the pavement, krill like creatures come to life, The fast dance of wings. Here for a moment each then gone with a flutter. Race. Mayfly live…

Rushing crowds of people, an urgency to arrive somewhere. The moment a conglomeration of happenstance sensory-perspectives, each element dazzling the mind, appetites attributing to the particular experience of this place, right now, right here, surrounded by electronic images contorting on skyscrapers, people cheering, laughing, dancing,…