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Showing posts from February, 2016


the white table

The days are not long. The nights are short. Guitars are hiding in cases, with scraps of paper tucked inside. The pen is full. There is a fresh notebook, with creamy pages. The little white desk is in the middle of the living room, a cascade of receipts and laundry perched on it.

I clean it off, have lunch as it stares back at me. This focal point, this fulcrum where my thoughts become real, this cheap folding table from Ikea. It is familiar, and patient.

a visitor

I am a fisherman

Gasoline (a Valentine's Day duet)

not just then but before, and slowly after

coming and going

best personal blogs
best personal blogs