An Excerpt from: (a private exposure in full light)


Between a river and a lake.


A sense of isolation in a new community.

I’ve alienated everyone I’ve ever known outside my family.

Alcohol fueled it, I think;

but what really caused say,


“People do not want to come over when you’re around,”


Will resolution come around?

Will I be able to clean up and change hours?

Are hours (as in the time of day??) that important?



What am I doing at a wedding where I know only two or three people?

Building anew?  Dreaming of old?  Waiting to see?

An accident waiting to happen?



Hours mean nothing and everything.

I talk to myself more than anyone.

Work is all that I know,

well work, home, smoke, read,

sleep, eat, drink, movie, sleep…




A year has passed.


Not much has changed,

but I did buy a bike.

So now I ride.

Riding is progress, miles covered.

Slowly at first; but gaining daily.



“the temperature has changed”

if nothing else



M___ S____ died.


He was my friend. My roommate. My “Devil in my Ear”.

He was younger than me.




Seeing everyone together at once was overwhelming.

My anxiety was on overdrive.

I hadn’t spoken to many of these people in years.


Swapping stories reminded of Joan Didion’s comments

on what it means to remember,

how different people see things in different ways.

The same event—yet differently.

It’s all about perspective.


I’ve seen portions of the group since the memorial,

talked to a few more.

Getting back together is fun, yet older.

As we knew it would be.




Spending time with you is wonderful,

it feels relaxed and comfortable.

I wonder what is seen through your eyes.

We come from different times.

Meeting you has forced me to remember

that I’m not very good at these things.

I’ve screwed up many times before,

my anxieties take over, and I lose sense of who I am.

I don’t want to fall and hurt again.

I think that’s why I’m comfortable being alone for so long.

Every relationship I’ve ever had has ended in pain.





When Disaster Courts

I asked her what she wanted to see.

“Silence!” she screamed.

“Let it come clean

And surround this unruly scene!”

She went on to explain

She did not care what it all means,

“When disaster courts

and becomes a conversation piece.”


I muttered something about how we lie to ourselves…


She asked me if I had ever come clean.

“Shut up!”  she said.


As silence rode into the night

We meditated, recreated, vacated, and medicated.

She said she felt it was

“All just a defense.

Another sick revenge

Another means to an end.”

I asked her what she wanted to be.

She said she would marry me,

If only for a moment, just to see

If I could stop fighting myself, such to believe.

Then she said, “We’d only last an hour.”

And looked relieved


She walked away without saying a thing

I believe it was all for the remembering

Disasters courting; but receding

People saying the things they only think they mean

Complaining when you treat them as if they were serious

Or something delirious.


A penny

A cold, brisk wind had kept me

Locked up inside for two whole days;

But on this new day, I wore shorts

And walked about the town.


Turning a corner, I noticed a penny—

Slightly dulled, I picked it up.

It was not very old, not very remarkable,

And I wondered…

With a jar full of them at home,

And no sense of superstition,

Why did I choose to pick this penny up?


Choices are fickle things,

Molded by opinions, experiences,

Facts and fictions, and a host of voices…

How one decides to choose, creates an existence;

How one exists, creates responses;

How one responds, creates reactions;

How one reacts, creates more choices…

(damn you, circular logic!)


One can choose to exist in the world in many ways:

One can choose to withdraw to write, write, write;

“fashioning one’s sentences to perfection in solitude”

Or one can choose to get involved and annoyed,

By choices made by captains and corporals;

And write, write, write, “to set out to oppose”

What is seen during wartime and its pathetic aftermath.

Or one can choose to reflect and report;

To make you, “…hear, feel, and above all, to make you see.”

But you are still left with a choice.

Experience and perspective,

Observation and imagination,

Contemplation and reflection…what will you choose?

To withdraw or engage, will it all turn out the same?


Will you pick up that penny?

Or will you pass it for someone else?

Will you share it with someone?

Or will you put it in your pocket, forgotten?


The choice to answer these questions is what I will leave with you.

The choices you make, are what makes you you.

These choices are you.


2013 dlg

White, Blue, & Green


Lowers my blood pressure;

my anxieties

as a side effect.

Its effectiveness?

5 out of 10

I could quit it

and not miss it.



A mood stabilizer.

I’ve succeeded

in the past

on this drug.

It’s only been

a few weeks now.

Jury’s still out.



Aka “Wren’s Happiness”

Green, round,


I’ve to be very careful with you.

Though over 100 of you

couldn’t stop me;

I’ll pass on testing that again.



Suppose your tears are mostly hidden.

The face you make is mostly fed by clonazepam

to hide the rest.

The illness led to this.

Suppose that’s only part of the pain,

real and imaginary,

always running through your body and mind.


Suppose your mind releases to the ether,

floating away, leaving your shell behind.

Feelings of frustrations, failures,& lost moments

falling away from your broken shell.


Floating higher towards that horizon of our shpere

spreading into infinity and stardust.


No more hopes, dreams, or desires anymore.


Just floating away

Just suppose