Ginny

paris, valentine's day weekend i pulled away from a really short guy "je dois partir " 'por quoi?' he asked and i think he understood i pulled away from the guy who was singing at the bar "your words are pretty but they're empty you speak a language you're sure only you understand and you don't try to understand anyone else" and then he pushed me away maybe he hated what i was rambling about i pulled away from tall, dark, and handsome "i don't speak french," i said "anglais,

love poem (2009) i was digging in wet sand scoff, scoff, the shovel sighed until i hit the water and a stone i had seen it before it was milky white i felt its edges it was smooth i remembered then when i once held this rock closer to my heart when i first found this particular rock, it was on the sidewalk as i was looking down i was walking tripping on my own feet scanning the pavement there it was i took it home kept it on my nightstand there it was every night and i could

Flash painting done the night my grandmother died

The Eye When you're getting over a near-death experience, the word "fear" doesn't mean anything to you anymore.  In a roundabout way, the reminder that you're vulnerable--that this great steel wall of your skin and brain is penetrable by something greater than you--makes you feel invincible. You become numb to small things, but you're paradoxically vigilant. God threw down a pair of golden glasses that cured your nearsightedness. They hit you on the head. You're told since yo