On a traffic island halfway across High Road, evening

It’s been a year, Yet your presence lingers in strangers who cross the road towards me. — In a quest to educate myself and use my time more constructively I’ve scheduled reading before bedtime. In addition to poet and writer Salena Godden’s memoir, Springfield Road, and Daniel Kahneman’s Thinking Fast and Slow, I’ve been reading

Don’t Waste Paris

Don’t waste the joy of new places on absent sources of heartache. Don’t Waste Paris on a Broken Heart.

What is a letter?

A letter is…

Pairings

The soda needs fountain; the lolli needs pop. Pink milk goes for shake; red counters seek top. On jukeboxes rave and motors rev bike. Heat moves towards wave, while cream swirls for ice. Young leather struts jackets, then shy ankles flash socks. The point brings us to make-out where our lips search for lock. —

A New Room

Yonder far o’er vale and glen whereto grooms return and bread is leaven. This is another country. Today, outside, is a new room in which five builders, tiered upon scaffolding, cannot hear All Blues. This is no time for saxophone wails. Stand at the window and look out on the fresh planks. The backdrop: bared