New poem. Old friends.

A poem for Christmas (sort of). Memory and diaspora. From PART 2: PLACE of Something That Comes Close.

A melancholic piece today. Because sometimes we are. Read it here. Buy my book online.

The Einstein-Rosen Bridge we all possess (if we choose to use it): if we want a better future, we must not repeat mistakes from the past. Lessons from old witch hunts.

A nobody from nowhere (in literary terms) enters a catalogue somewhere with real somebodies.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike Deane.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike Deane.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike Deane.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike.

The spoken word. A friend recites the title poem from my book: Something That Comes Close.

"It could not be dangerous to be living in a town like this, of simple people," Marianne Moore, 1921

I am pleased that I wrote and published a book of poems. I like what I've written. I hope people will buy my book.

An "Author's Proof" arrives in the mail.

Matin's birthday. Remembering this force of nature with another poem.

I may need to get out more.

Not long after you break your neck in three places (in a not-swimming-well-enough accident) people tend to ask a lot of questions.

Last days of primary school, I think. Maybe 1968 or 69. Look at those ears and the ginger hair!!! The past is indeed a foreign country.

The hero's journey ... Or not. And not quite Dante either. But, you know, IKEA on a Saturday?