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Monthly Archives: February 2009

of mockingbirds and mimeographs

The way the disease took him by degrees, the body jettisoning what it could: his arms and legs, his grin, his laugh, his voice. – from “Traveling Through the Prairies, I Think of My Father’s Voice” by Neil Aitken

What do you wish?

I didn’t catch the exact name of this exhibit when we visited the museum in January, and I can’t find it on their website, but the idea was, they’d taken wishes from people and printed them, and you could buy a wish ribbon with a small donation, and submit your own wish. They said things […]

“Night’s Mardi Gras” by Edward J. Wheeler

Night is the true democracy. When day    Like some great monarch with his train has passed,    In regal pomp and splendor to the last, The stars troop forth along the Milky Way, A jostling crowd, in radiant disarray,    On heaven’s broad boulevard in pageants vast.    And things of earth, the hunted and outcast, Come from […]

Who can guess what will save us?

My Poem Rocks has published my “Hiccups.”

The perfect survivor.

I dreamed I took the cat to St John’s Wood. “Is this a rescue mission?” Dunworthy said. “No, sir,” I said proudly. “I know what I was supposed to find in my practicum. The perfect survivor. Tough and resourceful and selfish. This is the only one I could find. I had to kill Langby, you […]

“On Seeing Weather-beaten Trees”

Is it as plainly in our living shown, By slant and twist, which way the wind hath blown? – Adelaide Crapsey

matter and anti-matter

Scifaikuest has published one of my scifaiku.

I have seen that handiwork

Perhaps if we had not been so far from home and so vulnerable to loneliness, we should not have been so deeply moved. Many of us had seen the ruins of ancient civilizations on other worlds, but they had never affected us so profoundly. This tragedy was unique. It is one thing for a race […]

Music, When Soft Voices Die

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap’d for the belovèd’s bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on. – Percy Bysshe Shelley

Happy Valentine’s Day.

The rain is making this rented tuxedo smell like a wet animal. My sister Rachel and my ex-girlfriend Maggie are standing outside the car while drops fall lightly on their newly done hair and their pink satin bridesmaids dresses. They’re looking at me like I should be unlocking the car, not staring at it from […]