(((time))): see what’s become of me

“I find I can get prose written in just about any circumstances, but I’ve never been able to write poetry, which I find infinitely more satisfying, without having vast tracts of dead time. Poetry requires a certain kind of disciplined indolence that the world, including many prose writers (even, at times, this one), doesn’t recognize […]

What is it with me and antiques?

I read a book, Beautiful and Pointless, back in…let’s see…March of 2014, per the annotation in my notebook. Its subtitle is “A Guide to Modern Poetry,” though from what I remember the book did not take the tour-guide approach the title might imply. When I picked it up, I thought it might be a different […]

‘Terror From the Alarm Clock’

a squat blue demi-god, fourteen glowing eyes leering at my sleeping feet. his center eyes move in slow circles as his metallic brain waits eagerly. sunlight claps him on the back, and gleeful, he shrieks his metal warcry BLOODCURDLING! alarmed, I lurch toward the brassy taunt. I catch him as he cackles, unresisting. smothered, the […]


Here’s the thing about artists — their job is to fall in love for a living. Like, you could commission me to go write a historical fiction, a historical musical. If I’m not in love with it and I don’t know how to get myself into the characters, you’re going to be bored to tears […]

really? you write poetry?

An odd part of being a written-word poet is that of working in a medium that is personally compelling but generally regarded with the benign smile given to antiques. As if poetry were a relic of skill alongside making brooches out of locks of hair — ever so popular in Victorian times, but no relevance […]