Here I am sitting in line at the car wash
feeling guilty for not writing.
In fact, it’s much more than that.
I haven’t submitted anything so far this year.
As many of you know, it’s a long waiting game,
and not submitting makes the waiting all
that much longer. However, I also need to remind
myself that while writing I need to remember to live.
And it’s OK to take time for both.
Soon the submitting will begin again.
It’s what writers do.
My published work:
What is unluck without luck?
And who dies sitting upright while
looking at a few geese from memory?
There was one angry goose who chased
a young boy until he fell and slid
and became covered in goose feces.
He was a small child-
They changed him
into a pair of girl jeans
for the rest of the night.
And it wasn’t a nice night,
but that’s how sadness works
and life remains.
Try to think why you know it,
why you feel it,
why you remember.
A piece of paper has
something about none of this
and a little of you finds more of
nothing than a paper.
(Love you Gavin. You were in my office asking me to not break your new snake while I wrote this.) 1/16/20
“Pain & Renewal” #1.
Even the book itself is gorgeous.
Two days ago, Brian, the editor and founder of Vita Brevis Press, was kind enough to lend me a direct quote, “Vita Brevis’ first anthology held the #1 spot for bestselling new poetry anthologies for 5 days! It’s been a great launch, and it looks like we’ll rank in the top five for the remainder of the week.” -Brian Geiger
There’s a reason book sales did so well. Sharing with the wold personal pain and how to heal from the scars isn’t something that is easy to do. To open a wound once again, express to the world, and walk with head down..for a bit longer, is a challenge. I’m honored to have two poems published in this anthology and I’m thankful to participate.
Cheers, everyone, the purchase is worth it. The read is great.
Because that’s what life is;
reality turned over.
A partial smile
on a face you want.
A warm jacket on naked legs-
Making love in a dream,
and waking up.
The desire of a word floating
on the tip of your tongue.
The last snow flake to finally land,
and a “good morning,” spoken by a child.
We can’t read ourselves without light. -M. Taggart
Ascend to a ceaseless shrill-
the pounding of the masses.
Be one, Be all, be nothing.
Perched, and observing,
find the prod, the lance-
The beast, like the succubus,
will continuously hunt-
until the very moment
the ever moving shrill
comes full circle.