In 2013, I will take the icy plunge into my first-ever 365-day challenge. The Rules  1. From January 1 to December 31 of 2013, I will draft a daily poetic fragment, drawn from the events of each day. 2. I will post the fragment here, before midnight of each day (see “occasional exceptions” if you’re […]

lulled into remission by siren songs of leisure the sleeping wolf lies curled beneath skin pores. having lived so long around  her teeth, tiptoeing is the only thing you know.                                                   […]

It has been a full month since my last snatch at daily poetry. Essentially the entire month of April is contained in the missing pages (posts?). (Holy Week is also missing, but I will excuse myself from artistic obligations therein, since I was stewing in receptivity instead of productivity). I could write explanations, thousands, good […]

the right pattern, the accident that found us both picking up the pieces was a divine design for a rainbow, reflected on our faces as we looked up from our bleeding fingers (mingling red already a sign) to find ______________ I had my first-ever board meeting at my job on Friday, thereby shutting down creative […]

sit in the dark. I sit in the dark. alone, the dark blends into me until I am dark. I am as quiet as silence and as dustless as steel. This is nonsense, nonsense, nonsense, this blending, this oneness, asking where do I begin and universe ends? Am I in the dance? am I   […]

we spend our whole lives looking for windows, to wave at ourselves, to spend the whole day telling ourselves hello, hello, hello. we walk backwards in front of ourselves on the street, examining the folds of hair that lift in the wind, our stiff nose. do you see them? only inasmuch as you see yourself […]

start from something already there, the coal in the pit of your stomach that smolders quietly, that no one could guess. you do not have to ignite two sticks. draw up from within and open the flumes to your heart. feed on the oxygen of toil and practice, at first, trust instinct and not judgment: […]

the morning having grown overnight you woke to find the sky white for harvest. the mirror told you that you had shed your seedcases too, and everything your mother ever warned you about beginning with “one day,” is suddenly overripe. you care about pricetags and clocks and scales, but you can wake when you want […]


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