selected past writing at 42opus
They were unlikely friends. Toni didn't settle for rough around the edges. She went for jagged. She was a junior and had friends that would never waste their time with someone like Theo, a sophomore, nondescript loner-jock type who always did his homework on time and ate Sunday dinner with Mom and Dad. Toni's friends wore black clothes and eyeliner and chains. Like them, Toni's take on life was dark, and he wasn't sure why she liked him enough to put up with his middle-class, white-washed way of seeing the world. Except that he was gay. Maybe that qualified him weird enough to be her friend.
I wanted to tell you there are mushrooms
sprouting from my toes
You said you were going to mow the lawn
I wanted to tell you there is a foot of snow
outside of Miami in the summer
11 August 2007 | poetry
I lay here in limber fish
(I am not a rice paper kite)
tormented by the wrappers…
2 December 2002 | poetry
It's going to be another bad winter,
as in, not a good example of winter:
you can sit on the beach in November
with no coat.
21 August 2008 | poetry
He held the wheel with his knee and reached behind his seat for another beer. The can was cold but the beer was warm. He swished it in his mouth until it was flat and flavorless. Swallowed, swigged, swallowed, swigged. He was getting there. He barely remembered the cat now. The feel of it under the front, then the back tire, like something already dead but not quite flat enough, and when they'd stopped and turned back, it was still breathing. "It's just a barn cat," she'd said. But she saw the collar just like he did, the heart-shaped tag.