where the writers are
Chapter and Verse


April 28







I remember being trained and rehearsed for finding the words which would release my soul from bondage.  The scrupulous concern for detail pointed me to heaven.  And yet I drank.  Inside these rooms the path is wide, judgment is suspended and I have the right to be wrong.  The penalties for error can be great but the privilege and risk are mine.  As in all things, the extremists come.  They have come to this place, too.  Thumpers hound and belittle, threaten and cajole. They tell page numbers like punch lines and narrow the field at every opportunity.  I can’t stay sober sitting on my old stool and I can’t maintain this desire by their chapter and their verse.



Notes are numbers, so count out your time and sing your song.



Jane Street


The space between wanting to live

and not wanting to hurt

is the alley in which I live.

This lane is not as narrow as you might think,


In some places there is room for parking on one side.

Since I reside here more often than not

I have filled it with many of the appliances,

which allow me to pretend at life.


It doesn’t afford a truly clean or cheerful locale,

but there are laughs, sometimes flowers in the spring.

Finding my way out of this is tricky.


When unlocked I find these are backdoors to commerce

and though better than being sold wholesale,

retail is not what I was hoping to find

as I wrest myself from a confined existence.


I have heard of those who

drive through plate glass ignoring the structure.

I think this is less workable from the back.


What is left when I can’t bully or climb?

I guess I will have to throw my hands up and pray.