The heart beats in a fish as it does in humans. The muscle that lets us toss the line also keeps the fish alive. The river has a pulse, but no heart. The fish doesn’t mind. Neither do we. The goal is to work with the pulse…

After hours the soft moonlight slips along the crack of the doors, the windows are illuminated like the back of a movie theater screen, and the witches step out, throw themselves from rooftops on broomsticks. Some lay low, preferring not to cast a silhouette on…

A thought. A memory. A good morning, as if there was such a thing. A cup of coffee. A necessity. Be honest, darling, we are addicts. Increasing speed of life, and time, it has a mind of its own. It stands so still in daylight,…

The park is quietest after hours. Trespassing thrill, not for cowards. Soft moonlight upon the pass. We find our place within the grass. Forever there, through the night. Good morning comes at dawn’s light.

In such a narrow margin, close confined, Between the crushing depths and empty space. This thin, sustaining band where life can grow. How perilous existence is for fish. PROMPT: Set underwater. FORM: Unrhymed blank verse.

One, two, three, four, five, six Submerged and amused. Thirty two, thirty three, thirty four, thirty five, thirty six Holding, pressure building. Fifty six, fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine Bubbles dance and race away. Seventy five, seventy six, seventy seven Eyes sting, lungs protest….

There is a coursing wave throughout the fine parts of my frame, where the fish schools come to investigate the mystery of my death. They don’t make much of it anymore–they are used to the sight of rotted bones after millennia of foreign beings crashing…

I both love and hate Sunday mornings. Tomorrow, it’s back to work. Back to the Computer and If then For each Next x. End sub. Sigh… I both love and hate my work. Yesterday was Saturday, And I’m old now, So, I slept. Drank first. Two…