i don’t miss you

i miss the inch
before your lips


parting my lips

i am not

an easy person to love

yet he does it with aplomb

this man who makes the sun

rise and set

by parting my lips with his


activism art books childhood cinema comedy crime domestic violence ecology education film happiness history Jazz journalism Kentucky Music nature non-fiction physics poetry publishing punk religion rituals Short Stories sociology the arts traditions Uncategorized Urban Legends war writing

the year i carried a copy of ferlinghetti’s book poetry as insurgent art like a pentecostal carries and twists their bible

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
thoughts of kissing me
sleep on disreputable futons
show up at hotel room doors

just about the time
one of my gods said
i was coming close to my

but i’m nowhere in proximity
upping the ante is perhaps required
my addictions too mitigated by motherhood
and the yolk of practicality

i’m not lesbian enough
i’m not disenfranchised
i’ve never been to france
i’ve never given anyone a hand job for a grant
ted hughes has not yet abandoned me

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing


he rang her on the phone
a day after their first kiss
little boy innocent
his bass weejun toe
swishing back and forth
in the softest playground gravel
of their lives
to say
he had developed a bad cold
since last seeing her
and hoped he hadn’t passed it along

she smiled
wrapping herself
in the long ago
avocado phone cord
of her teenage memories
and enthusiastically replied
that she hoped he did
it would be
the sweetest case of the sniffles
she ever suffered through
nose swollen
in love and
red eyed


flying squirrel

he comes at her
flying squirrel
in a shirt that oddly matches her dress

how did you know to wear warhol?
damn good guess

right outside in the alley of the gallery
after the reading
tongue outstretched
with school boy carrying my books intentions

saying i don’t know you
but i wanna fuck your poetry

i had bought too much crown royal
at a beforehand bodega
to care enough to slap him

later castigating him for being a man

i shouldn’t have hated him for it

now i think of it sweetly and laugh

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

tuesdays at 4th & race tower

i wasn’t looking for him

that fateful day in may

when we shared an elevator

in the 4th & race tower


i had business going up

but the look in his eyes

told me he was thinking of a merger

as he was going down


we fell immediately


he was more f. lee bailey

than atticus finch

as we sat side by side

corner booth clandestine

in the federal reserve bar


skyline glistening

him whispering

meticulously explaining his intentions

to remove my clothes as we sat there

ice dripping from our manhattans



his fingers traced my cleavage with desire

such well-tailored

justifications we both wore

as we disregarded

his wife

my husband

and the groceries in the car


so many pairs of new heels

bottles of perfume

and panties purchased

in his honor


hiding hotel keys and receipts

within our comfortable suburban ruts

a trail of miniature shampoos

and complimentary soaps

left behind in our quiet footsteps


we burned beautifully

as we used each other for warmth

for the heat of fire

sometimes we would stroll through bromwells pretending

one day we would share a hearth


even jimmy the bellman was

gladly complicit

winking and smiling

passing messages back and forth in the art deco lobby

of our grand love affair


how careful we were


so many afternoons we rose



to the 14th floor

passion torn open with desperate kisses

atop a mahogany desk


before retreating to wayward text messages

and running errands that didn’t need running

to sneek in a phone call


these delicious tuesdays

were not enough

to sustain us


how we suffered for each other


until the rainy afternoon

i drove into the city

to surprise him for lunch

on the wrong day

and saw his face under the portico

buried in the hair of the wednesday blonde


i laughed aloud at the instant karma

and the thought of being the tuesday brunette


as he was

my tuesday bald guy