I send you cards, Christmas, Get Well, Be My Friend, that reveal my heart like a sign hanging in a loan company's window, unblinking, but saying OPEN even when it is not. Where can I find you on this dreary November morning? At noon, or thereabout, a few of us are heading out to visit the Space Needle, and then I will have an overview of all the miles I walked yesterday, only to return to my cavelike room emptyhanded. Last night, I heard something on the TV which sounded like, "Anthony needs…

On one end of a dream, wormy spaghetti-like fingers that won't quite let go of a past they have no business holding onto, and on the waking end, bright beginnings which might be explanations of change or at least nubs of desire regarding movement. Who authorized this bad patch, and who vanquished the last? We saw through the flimsy excuses; we prayed in unison; we fell toward each other, bruising a third knee, and when I say we, I am being hopeful. Those slimy fingers carry the rosy odor of…

Having my little shared office to myself for the afternoon, I sat at my desk with a lidded thermal cup half-filled with tepid coffee from before my morning class to one side of my laptop and a tax balance sheet to the other; on the screen 372 words directed toward a heartwarming chapter of my NaNo opus, and they, refusing to cohere in a meaningful manner, thrust their collective tongue at me, so that I’d swear they were whispering we dare you to feel good about yourself. I found…

Morning like an Easter Sunday with much accomplished of no consequence, I like that intangible tang of citrus fragrance that hangs in the air. Too many hours I just want to sleep in, but not on an Eastery day. Lately, paid my house rent, the water bill, picked up my replacement passport, and though I haven’t yet received Mike’s package, there is still hope as I recall receiving a Christmas card from my ex-sister-in-law long ago one day in March coming forth like some ghost escaped from…