April 21, 2011


Sicily smells like salt. At dusk the small men climb out of their cabinets and put their hands in their pockets, heading for the square under the statue to wait for their dinner.

April 17, 2011

One Way

She silently mouths a conversation alone against the window. Her breath fogs the glass. In the story, he says different things, flatters her decision, it's going as planned.

April 15, 2011

Some Numbers

It's Friday afternoon so everyone in first class is drinking. It's free but that's not really the point. These people are used to free, or at least they're used to ignoring concerns of less than ten dollars. When they drink is more important than why. Or how much. On my last trip a man next to me had three gin and tonics. It was ten in the morning on a Tuesday. The flight lasted seventy-five minutes. He was in his late sixties, dressed impeccably, tweed, a tie with a clip. At the end of the flight, entering final descent, he opened a folder filled with pages of numbers aligned in precise columns. He flipped the pages quickly and sighed. After a minute he closed everything and turned outside as the brown grass of the flat edge of Detroit filled the window.

Jasmine Revolutions

First Tunisia, then Egypt, then Libya
and on it went.
Each week, more news from other places
another necessary collapse
a sour tasting spring
littered with endings.
Time felt backwards
and as the snow called itself
to return to the sky
and the earth puddled
in mirages
she grew younger,
of what whisp of winter
remained hidden in the desert.

April 6, 2011


Thick, eager birds
wait on flamingo legs.
A silent cue.
One recoils in a pause,
violently pursues the sky.