It has become clear with the Covid-19 virus ravaging the world that we are raging an asymmetric and asynchronous war with no boundary whose battleground we could have chosen had we taken the voluntary measures that were forced on us before the curve attacked us exponentially as we slept on…

Soul. I have never been comfortable with this word; I have nearly never used it sincerely. I am writing here to those who would use this word, but I am also writing to those of you who — like me until recently — would never use this fucking word, so…

I am so much motion it cannot be contained. Ecstasy and intensity, overwhelming love and gratitude. I can not contain; it is always too much to even try. Life flows in ecstasy outwards and upwards; the flow is the life is the ecstasy. The flow is me is alive is…

December 9th, 2018, part I Things do not happen serially; they appear to. My alarm goes off; I am awake. I have been awake most of this evening, the kind of sleeping wake where it’s hard to tell one way or the other. I don’t feel conscious through most of…

A Poem — 60 degrees today at the philadelphia zoo december 18th 2000 and 12. In three days, there will be no end. There is only ending. The tortoises were out today and mating, the polar bear lay on the green grass of his cell whose walls present no end, only one of a thousand endings in the zoo. Jabari, the…

A covenant — I wish I could drink coffee forever. There is rarely a perfect match between how much warm, loving coffee remains in my cup or in the Chemex I use to brew coffee, and the lateness of the morning, and the words. And sometimes, it is in fact perfect. This morning…

My relationship with Death has been changing quite a bit since mom’s passing. I am less anxious, in general, more at peace. I feel, surprisingly, her presence in a simpler, more direct and available way now than in life. I feel quite a bit less panicked about needing to get…

I turn and take a sip of the coffee I’ve just picked up as the music shifts to Zero 7’s In The Waiting Line, its gentle tones opening the selfsame moment as becoming captivated by the abstract shell-like patterns of light spinning smoothly shining out the overhead lamp’s shade, dappling…

I have never liked writing — no, that’s wrong — I’ve never liked writing prose. I don’t think in a particularly linear (some would say logical!) manner, and the one-word-after-another form has always been frustrating to me. …