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one more time, blood moon.
made a head count tonight, and it turns out i have 75 secrets. only one of them concerns the blood moon. a fitting number, considering what’s waiting for us all this morning. sadly, as the definition for secret goes, this story is not for sale. although, far as circumstances go, i can reveal what’s good…
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Capricorn (cold open)
Almost nonstop until eight in the morning, no turning back, bathed in interstate, because New Orleans had a special place for someone like me. Goodbye Carolina. Down through its southern counterpart, then Georgia. Interstate dipping into the valley of Atlanta, barely beating rush hour traffic as the sun turned the sky a desktop grey.…
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raven.
It would have been less of a memory, less of a moment – could even be it might never have come to pass – if it hadn’t been for the sound of my laughter. The sound of my fucking laughter, over the roar of the engine. Over the litany of sounds, over the feel of…
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lefty.
So I remember that certain sixth grade school in Santiago, where it was dictated that all children complete their written assignments with the strict use of fountain pen. Insert cartridge. Tap the tip long enough to make it wet. Get to work. Always what was assigned, most always rote memorization. Always what was demanded. Always…
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M0 J0
He wore his sport coat like a cape. Face all the worse for gravity’s ongoing story. Thin red lips stenciled across pancake batter, triplicate chins that spilled over a black bolo tie. Silver shock of greasy hair combed back towards sloping shoulders. Twin thistles arched over eyes with no apparent iris. MoJo would hobble into…
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at the gates.
sat myself outside. red steps. back against a closed door. cigarette. Jack Daniel’s. music still bumping, catching a row of bikes parked against the fairground fence. and what was on my mind… 6:25, here’s how the air feels on a perfect day, taste of a willow tree. sun at a lower level, some 71 degrees.…
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maytwentyeighteen.
standing at gulf’s edge, watching emerald waves roll in with the latest news, spread themselves at my feet, sediment for sandpipers, sun with an afternoon glare that sends cat paw clouds towards the horizon, where storms ring warning bells; still too far for thunder, replaced by the hungry reminder of jet engines, twin fighters that…
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caterwaul.
(originally published April, 2021) the caterpillars have come back, once again sporting such April fashion sense. first spring of Season 2. seemingly recent arrivals crawling along the catwalk with with all the determination of a a young upstart. single undulating inch draped with a fur coat of pale-yellow static. bright dandelion faces on a mission.…
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my friend.
i was sitting on a stranger’s futon, counting sheep, when one happened to wander from the fence. came on over and bummed a smoke. helped itself to some wine. bright white and so very cloudy. after an hour or so, i felt that talking to a sheep couldn’t be any more crazy than watching one…
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smile.
I took a moment, on my way to work, to stare at an anthill. Close to 11 in the AM, so my shortcut through the park should have been free from the rampaging sneakers of tireless children; chasing squirrels, undersized soccer balls, or one another. Their interchanging directions switching from one interest to the next.…
notes from a never-was.
late night, alcohol infused musings from the world's most celebrated unknown.
notes from a never-was. 