the greatest sorrow

of a daughter

is surely

the madness

of her father

human behavior literature sociology writing

AA meetings aren’t for people who need them, they’re for people who want them

he showed up drunk

at 59 years old


to pick me up

from the hospital

with another gallon

of wild turkey tossed in the back seat

he had bought

along with

fetid red Marlboros

on the five mile way


at that moment

i was no longer certain

who had run out of excuses


or me



i have much more

to lose

than two units

of blood

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

nixon is still dead

the sheets are department store clean

my tub has been cleansed of it’s sins

there are no shameful hairs
lingering in the corner
behind the bathroom door

the place
where we pretend
others don’t notice

lemons have been forced
into every unnatural crevice

a martha stewart
fresh from cupcake prison
level of futility

but a storm is coming

nixon is still dead

the beloved dog of my childhood
along with him

as i long for a time
when bad men had the decency
to not be your father
and wore ski masks with their suits

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

that they may lose their way to heaven

beside our family church

her corpse lies chained

to the crudest of casons


an eighteen wheeled barge to carry away

any memory of her majesty


centuries of rings compose her fallen trunk

she has been murdered by her own


this primordial beech tree


bleeding out our family history in xylem and phloem


this grandmother who has shaded the weary shoulders

of our toiling ancestors

for two hundred years


who has seen every birth, death, family reunion, and creek bed salvation

whose roots grew beneath the graves before they were filled

she is now as dead as they are


she had become too much to care for the cousins said

with no thought of taking up a collection for her care

or notion to call an arborist

executioners are far cheaper


they have cut down our family tree

turned our homeland into a crime scene

burned our history out of the ground


dishonoring god’s earth

all the while claiming she was rotten


but it was not her who harbored disease

the sickness lies within the hearts

of her ungrateful shade tree children

who massacred her without consideration


as useless as moths at war

no forgiveness given


i curse the henchmen

that they may lose their way to heaven