• Read More »

Summer burned bright, hot to the touch, when the second Adam finally saw Paradise.

Like all other days, this day’s dew cooled in curling leaves, bright ants crawled into new made hills, and a lion sang in the distant deep. He didn’t notice how the ever-friendly sun bloomed slowly into a stunned glare.  Instead, while his mouth still dripped red juice from his illicit breakfast, Adam leered at his wife, pale and naked.
“Are you cold, my dear?”
She turned toward him slowly.  “I don’t know.”

• Read More »

• Read More »

Rocks. And spiral patterns made out of rocks. A path carved from boulders, with a slow running waterfall gently cascading down more rocks. They’ve built a mini Stonehenge that sits at the edge of the river, in front of a rusting metal railroad bridge. Lined with gravel paths and scrub grasses, I wonder what has been planted and what is here of its own accord?   A large flat rock is fashioned into a bench; a very large bench that could easily hold a dozen bottoms, or more if they were children.

• Read More »

Dad in August


Dad doesn’t notice the Rose of Sharon that blooms papery white and sunset red outside his bedroom window.

• Read More »

I wasn't even all the way through John Hollywood's door before being hit with a barrage of questions about how my crotch felt. Which was about as expected as all the beer and banana offerings that followed.

 

• Read More »

           Motel Sheet Line Of Defense (Revised)

• Read More »

There was no definitive moment of when I first knew. There was no sudden revelation like reading a quote from a great thinker: baffled by the truth of it. There always was just something there. An awareness of things. The natural curiosity that makes you look over when standing at urinals in elementary school, or the way you empathize with the longing of teenage girls, strung-out on neurosis and chocolate.

• Read More »

 

• Read More »

  The last time I was behind the wheel of my father’s car, I was fifteen years old.  My father, teaching me to drive, insisted I make a turn in traffic. I steered the 1961 Mercury over the curb and into the green and yellow pole that marked the bus stop on the corner. Luckily, no one was waiting for the bus, and the car was barely scratched.

• Read More »