But Doctor, It Only Hurts When I Type

WRITING (Not to be mistaken for WRITHING):



The process by which you fork your guts and heart into a tiny box, then hold out this dripping mess for the painfully-needed approval of people you will never meet or know.



See also: HEROIN ADDICTION.

From the Distant Iridescence

For N. P.


From the distant iridescence of my memory,
Faces glow, then fade as lives are lost;
Asters with a hue of dusk return to me,
The cedared Wakefield hillsides gleam with frost.
In the distant iridescence of my memory,
Two falling stars burned pathways that we crossed.

Ice & Autumn Glass

Reviews have been creeping in for my latest book, and I could not have asked for better praise. Thank you, everyone!