poetry
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The marsh was not supposed to burn. Its waters, shallow and dark, had for centuries swallowed sparks and doused careless flames. Children once dared each other to toss matches into the reeds, certain they would do nothing more than fizzle and vanish. Elders laughed at the thought of fire ever taking hold. But in the…
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I’ve published one more original piece on the site: “The House Beneath the House.” It’s a short story about grief, accumulation, and the terrible discovery that rock bottom occasionally has a basement. If you’ve been reading this site for a while, you already know I’m interested in rhetoric, memory, and the hidden architecture of what people…
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There is a point in life at which sorrow stops behaving like weather and begins to take on architecture of the mind. I used to think grief arrived like a storm. Loud and brief. Cinematic. I imagined it as something that passed through, wrecked a few things, and moved on when it got bored. It…
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There’s a new piece up on the site: “Journey Through the Limbic System.” Which, yes, does sound a little like the title of a cursed science fair project or an elective you accidentally take at 8:00 a.m. and never emotionally recover from. But I promise it’s more interesting than that. This new page lives in the…
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How much more can we take of this? Why do we dare to hope for the best yet expect the worst without fail? Perhaps the reason is that every new day that encroaches brings another devastating breakdown that unravels the human mind into thinking that, somehow, if by some miracle, this war will end one…
Static Pages, Moving Meaning 