(Photo by Sergey Causelove) You are here even though you’ve been gone for four days.  You swim up my fallopian tubes. You wait inside me patiently, eager for an egg to release so you can have a meeting—significant in its essence, that joined endeavor for life.  In a flurry of fuzzy static, we came at the same time—bodies at the edge of disappearance. I felt your heat spread through me, into my loose arms and down racy fingertips. The stars lurched as our bodies ascended, then

I used to see prayer as something beneficial for others, but not for me. I was too bad, too wild, too sinful for it. I also did not possess the humility to get down on my knees. It felt like begging. Begging to something I was not sure existed or even cared for me. It looked like groveling for help. It looked like wishing some divine hand would poke out of the sky and reach down and drag me from the gutter. My romantic relationship opened me to prayer. I guess that's what lov

Part of being an artist is the drudgery of sitting at the desk repetitively, especially when the well of imagination feels dried up.  In these mental blocks, there’s an inclination to  hit fast forward. There’s time travel into the sparkly future where the work’s in full form and neatly tied up. But the result can only fall into one’s lap when one is positioned for the fall. There are no short cuts,  yet the restless mind wants them. The ego wants the solution to come faster.

I construct a house with every wall made of glass. The glass sparkles in delight when the sun hangs his body upon its length, and turns impenetrably dark when night takes residency in the sky. The darkness is egalitarian, turns everything the same color as everything else, including oneself. The light is so clear it exposes everything (including oneself).  In the mornings, strangers walk by the glass house and reflexively look inside. I’ve never bought curtains, and I don’t o

Perseverance is saying no to life’s no’s. It’s Chicken Soup for the Soul and 130 rejections from publishers until one said yes and...

We were together in the indigo swept mountains of Thailand before I left him for the Mediterranean sea. When we lived together on a Thai...

It was the third day of Burning Man, and Abbie took 120 micrograms of acid. Within the first hour of her trip, she was a crumpled ball on...

The slight brush of a shoulder while walking past a stranger. Fingers, like wanderers, find each other beneath the dinner table. Eye...

A night club in Amsterdam / My best friend’s concerned gaze / A filthy man’s touch / A recollection of the past / Midnight strobe lights...

121st Street is at war with itself. The cement does not yield to the bodies that walk upon its shore, nor the men that fight upon its...

I lay on the damp Earth and the grasses tremble above my head, they too are breathing. The grasshoppers click their legs in melodic...

I write a poem while there is a war in Ukraine. I grocery shop for organic produce while there's genocide in Myanmar. I dance half naked...

I have practiced numbness by taking and taking and barely getting half way full. A disjointed internal monologue loops: But maybe this...

He lives in his off white finca in Southern Ibiza. When he comes home, he drinks three glasses of pinot blanc and plays reggae fusion...