A Brief For The Defense

I’ve been thinking all day about whether I should write something or not about last night. Although, deep down, I knew I had to write someth...

The shape of my life is round like the two pronged tree growing in front of the old Leiper house (And when I say old, I do mean old. Thomas ...

I want to make love to you in a library, Listening to the quiet of recorded history Watching the arch of your feet As they wrap around the s...

Above me, the trees are towering, tangled stems and branches, still silhouettes guarding the infinite sky, hiding it beyond their last livin...

I do not know what it is that closes me: there is the last, feeble moment of dark before the flickering ruins of light jostle the stars into...

I loathe the granite firm cold of my empty bed in winter. It asks of me to meet with your recoiling, like a tulip from the night, and wonder...

Here, in this city, death is not such an uncommon sound. In fact, it is an adjective, a descriptor that outsiders hurl effortlessly, as if t...

Distantly, a siren fluctuates, Growing nearer, louder, its Frequency mixing with the rumble Of a truck screeching to a break. Then, its grat...

Part I A soft, sweetly moist bulge of lustrously white skin presses down on the fabric that holds her in from me, a soft, imperfect reminder...

There is a voice on the other end, more masculine than you remember, less warm in its intonations, and far more formal than when you and her...

My favorite kind of night is in the midst of winter. The sky is clearer than a lake at dawn, the lack of clouds has allowed any sunny heat f...

You are in the smoldering red singed leaves of an oak tree you are in the sun glazed branches of the elegant old beech you are in the umbrel...

There are anxious moments in the deep hours of the morning fearful longings and for what? or for whom? anyone, a balance, an anchor the reas...

it has been a full season since we fell off my couch. a summer without coffee stains and achy limbs from sharing the narrow twin bed in your...

There are things that cannot be captured by a conglomeration of words into a narrative or a parable, graces of the world that retain their i...