The ones I loved
The ones I wanted
The ones I lusted

All could give a
flying fig
for me

a history of

chasing men
who had been
nothing but
back alley
beggar boys
sneakily dressed
in much
fancier clothing
(faintly squint)
a tiny bit
too large
for their

all whilst
my woman’s heart,
had remained
far more feeling,
and ravenous

And like dominoes

I kept queuing
them up

Each had
forming that tenuous line
of repeated
fowls and

the fickleness
of the foolish

a test of my

Until I
came to realize
this was
far more trouble
than it
was worth

weary sigh
head tilted
my finger gave
the smallest
to the very first


The quiet rhythmic


of each
falling into the


a flawless
a pile
of ivory rectangles
with no
discernible match

with care
and reverence

I placed each tenderly
within the case

This was a game
I no longer
cared to play.

Driving South 2011


I found this saved in an old folder – I decided to move to San Antonio, Texas in March of 2011. I made the ridiculously long drive from Chicago, Illinois. Sharing is caring – don’t stay at the Ranch Motel i.e. plan ahead. Always make sure there’s gas in your car. Stay away from late night Waffle Houses.

The Drive…In short.

Every state is the longest state when driving alone southward and the only radio stations being picked up by the scan button are either A. Country B. Christ related or C. Classic Rock. You might get lucky and hit that ONE station that combines two of the three, but let’s not get your hopes up. MAYBE if you’re going through Arkansas.

Hitting a Waffle House at 11:30 at night in a po dunk(sp?) town of Oklahoma is a wonderful idea for women traveling alone who happen to be height/weight proportionate and possess all of their teeth… if they desire to be potentially followed by swarthy, unshowered trucker type men who look like the ONLY place they’ve ever eaten at their entire lives has been The Waffle House.

But know what? Oklahoma ain’t too bad. One billboard simply read “”. H’m… okay. A mile later another billboard stated “Need to talk?” and held below that a suicide hotline number. Awesome. Yet, not nearly as brilliant as the giant sign reading “Going to Hell?” Um. Not sure – haven’t checked my mail lately and I very rarely ever check my voicemails. And if the notification went directly to Spam in my junk email account – well, I just don’t know! However, I’m not pregnant and have no suicidal intentions, so I think I might be in the clear. Let me get back to you on that.

Lastly, after becoming slightly confused, I tried to take the US-69 route only to find that it was a looooong stretch of unlit country road. After checking my gas gauge and seeing that I only had a quarter tank left, I began to panic. There were NO gas stations in sight and I began to fear being stranded on the side of the road with an Ed Geins kind of person waiting in the shadows to rape me/kill me/skin me and use my dehydrated flesh as his new kitchen curtains. While I think I’d make a lovely set, not really how I wanted to end up.

Obviously, I found my way. (yaaay…)

The Arrival.

Due to obscene traffic in Waco and Fort Worth, I arrived late. That’s okay… the boyfriend was supposed to have rented a room and I could use a shower and a comfortable bed.


Spring break/Musical festivals/Conventions – every decent affordable place was booked. The place we ended up deciding on out of sheer exhaustion and exasperation was called the Ranch Motel. I’d like to skip past this part. Still traumatized. Think the movie “Vacancy”. Only dirtier. With worse lighting. Minus impending torture and death… for that night. But on the bright side, there was a nice hole next to the bottom of the door in case rats or snakes wanted to get in or out. How considerate.

Current Status.

I’m here. I’m alive. Going through job lists… and I’m not freaked out. I thought I’d be more of a wreck. Normally, I’d be in a situation like this and be mortified, beside myself with anxiety and planning my escape posthaste. Yet, I am strangely at ease in this new environment and have met with little to no nervousness when evaluating my future prospects. After voicing my concern over my lack of unease to my cousin Venus, she said, “That’s just a sign that you did the right thing. It means you’re supposed to be here.”

I can live with that.

Everything turned out okay – 4 1/2 years later, the drive back home North was MUCH better. Next time, I’m flying.

The Musician

I found
old correspondence
from some years ago
between my former
self and
the always on the road
wielder of stringed instrument
and debaucherous exploits

Former paramour
partner in deviance
and infatuation
What a pair…
Addicted, lustful
we were
Two moths
Two flames
Destruction was
Of course

But still.

Bemused, I
shook my head
Reading the
To and From
Slightly aggravated
by my own desire and loathing
Your seemingly sincere
apathetic apologies

“You may be crazy, but I am weak. And that’s worse. I don’t know what else to say.”


Our combustion
while not spontaneous
still surprises me
After some years
the flames
have all but turned to
simmering, dying embers
in a growing
pile of ash
which along with
the charred
and disintegrating
have been
flying and
to somewhere
not here

But I wonder.

have your messages
of remorse
to Her
Become any better
Than what they
once were?

you should invest
in a fire extinguisher.