Thursday, May 31, 2018

my face

everybody such and such getting married,
everyone such and such gettin hitched,
every person kneelin and proposin;
Iceland and Texas and then some...

every trial dashed and harried,
every hope swing and miss,
every time falling and losing;
and camping I don't feel so undone...

with trees I'm not so alone,
with green I'm not so barren,
with nature I'm not so empty,
... and no one to rub it in

exceptions can be made

if it wasn't about the closeness
the physical affirmation that I seek,
are there other reasons you say no,
but dare not choose to speak?

Wednesday, May 30, 2018


and when the music pauses
like a long held breath
and you wonder
if it will begin again

the silence ticks
like an echoing second hand
loud in your thoughts
counting the moments

you realize
you've forgotten to exhale
when the band starts packing
leaving, and going home.

Sunday, May 27, 2018


I don't take what you don't give me,
and you give me nothing new,
no comments, no questions, no answers,
so I save nothing from you.

I have cookies and scripts in the background,
all from third part parties,
Google and Facebook, Tumblr and Twitter,
but they don't share any of it with me.
one foot in habits
facing and tweeting,
redding and tumbling,
walking and weaving

one foot in newness
discing and cording,
hanging and 

Saturday, May 26, 2018


when conversation fades
and hope runs dry,
when someone decides something
and doesn't say why,
when the horse stops breathing
and you start swinging your bat,
I know I've wasted ten long weeks
messaging you back.

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

From the Memories of Callidus Igni

The first time he donned the cloak and picked up the lantern, he knew it was the one. Not writing up the character sheet, not bickering with the DM about his character's abilities or growth potential, not the DM's attempt at punishment when insisting he had to make his own gear--that was a laugh.

Callidus was no shy hand at making clothing. He'd won adoration if not awards at conventions for the work he'd done, not just the "sewmanship," but also the design. He was no stranger to devaluing his own work, and so declined from competing; it didn't help that he had no desire to participate in the parading and acting on stage.

No, the woods were his stage, and the only spotlight he needed was tucked under his cloak. That's something that you wouldn't find in a standard cloak: utility pockets. When it had been inspected by his DM, that was a point of contention. Just wear a utility vest, he's said. And Callidus did, wear a vest, that is, but one could never have enough pockets.

And a cloak weighed down by nothing but itself didn't flow right, gusting about too freely with the wind like some silly superhero. Callidus wasn't a superhero, or a regular hero, or even an anti-hero. He was a bug in the code, a fly in the soup. His role in the game was to ruin everyone else's plans.

He was Callidus Igni, the Cunning Fire, and anybody who got too close would get burned.


Tuesday, May 1, 2018