where the writers are
My Moon


October 14





I anticipate the crowning of your face as you birth the sky.  Your rhythmic visitation sates me.  The gravity of my need keeps you close.  The tide of my heart pulls you from shore to shore.  We live in the sweet ecstasy of tethered love, our souls slingshotting across the open palm of heaven.  Your empathy for me transforms these shards of ice to a tender heart… satelliting.  I orbit you empowered by your kindness.  You are my moon.



Paint your face and print your profile.




Fair Fish


Tiny thoughts ping pong around my head

hoping to win a goldfish,

but what do I need with a five dollar fish?


How often do I pay too dearly,

for what is merely an animated ornament?

When I falter in self-esteem

I look to decorate my life through hostage taking

and other unfair practices.


I know I want to feel safe,

know that hiding gives the illusion of that.

It’s like the joke told about banging sticks

to keep the tigers away.


Does it work?  Yes, of course

as long as you are in a place with no tigers.

I can distract myself,

but I can not distract life;

life goes on and takes me with it, no matter my disguise.


Given this I can either spend my time

with a blindfold and a cigarette waiting for the end

or walk the midway and go ride the tilt-a-whirl.