Perhaps memory…

April 27, 2015 § 4 Comments

Long Island Summer.

Perhaps memory is a string of beads

we add to day by day.

My brother has that kind of memory.

Thorough, sequential, detailed.


Perhaps memory is an old home movie

Clicking through a projector,

the color shifted

toward gold.


Perhaps memory is a stone

lying on the riverbed so long

all the rough edges

have worn away.

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Me: the brand.

April 21, 2015 § 10 Comments

His T-shirt read:

Order yours today!

Order yours today!

THE MAN, THE MYTH, THE LEGEND, and he was trailing his wife around the Tallahassee Flea Market.

He was taller than most, good-looking too, but myth? Legend?

Perhaps his label was a joke. Or a wish. Or a gift from his kids.

But as I looked around, other T-shirts made claims for their wearers.

Big claims.

None said anything as modest as: Nice Guy, Good Kid, or Decent Human Being.

Please read the following in the voice of an irritated geezer.

Why is it that everyone is extraordinary these days? A star? The center of the universe? In my day we were ordinary and proud of it.

Okay, go back to your normal voice. The one that doesn’t sound cranky or like a used car salesman or carnival barker, and ask yourself nicely, why is it that we have to package ourselves as if we were really famous or as familiar as an iconic consumer product?

When it comes to self-promotion the T-shirt is just the beginning. « Read the rest of this entry »

The never-ending adventures of God: the visit.

April 14, 2015 § 5 Comments

Episode 5

He was safely back, infinite once again, the self-without-end—and he was breathless.


The idea had been so simple, to live as his creation did, briefly, vividly, fueled by aspirations, appetites, dreams and fears, and to do it as all who lived and died must, without anything more than the collective rumor about something greater that hid behind the sky.

That unprovable belief justified the brevity of life, the inevitability of death, and gave meaning to both.

So he hid who he was from himself and was born, delivered out of a dark sheltering safety, with tears and straining muscles, into the arms of a mother.

Though her lips were cracked from the dry heat of the place and she was exhausted, she was the beautiful sun at the center of his universe.

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Life: glass half full version.

April 7, 2015 § 7 Comments


You’re young

and the thing under the bed is real.

But floating on the downstairs-murmur

of grownup voices

you drift into sleep, safe.

You’re not popular but you have

this one friend

who isn’t popular either but

as long as you are not popular together

who cares?

You heard there’s a boy who might like you.

At least he’s thinking about it.

Plus Christmas is coming

and maybe this year

you’ll probably,


get a dog.

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