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The Mountain of Middle Managment

I used to stand in front of a room rocking a dry erase marker back and forth in my palm and give presentations every day. I would stand in front of 120 people and talk for six hours. And not just present in the manner of a PowerPoint deck properly

Haiku 3

Small green sand bucket Holding my daughter's laughter Ebb tide pulls away

Lion of Gripsholm Castle

The hapless taxidermists piecing together hides and bones from an unknowable distant land constructing an abomination of majesty and strength out of withered pelts

Workplace Hazards

I realize in a palpable way that I am dying inside like a cancer victim who feels themselves growing weaker and thinner, and in the silence can even hear their internal workings being gnawed away with the clicking of tiny teeth

A Pirate's Life

I had a friend who would burn his life down every seven years like clockwork. A series of contrived self-sabotaging actions that were guaranteed to have the outcome of losing everything and being forced to start again.

We told the story together

Tear filled fear at the start and then the excitement of buying a high end stroller we pushed around the mall filling with doll clothes and music boxes in preparation for our still imaginary fare. I caught you round bellied surveying construction of the crib in our living room. Your

Chapter 7: The Drive

Chapter 6: Ferris Wheel

Phrenology

"Hey daddy, do you have a picture of just you in a frame? Do you want one? So I can remember you when you die." The memory of you, silhouette against the lake, pensive and staring out into reflections and ripples, casting a net of thought, almost indistinguishable

Chapter 5: Breakfast with Friends

Chapter 4: Repentance

Once a month he made the drive to visit his parents. Usually on a Sunday. His mother liked him to go to church with her, so he rose before dawn. He stood in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee, looking out the window and wondering how far Mr. Smallwood had progressed.

Chapter 3: Sleepless

The dirt road curved out over blind turns, each holding some hidden trailer or dilapidated home tucked away behind the trees like guarded fortresses aged and forgotten in their self-imposed isolation.

Chapter 2: Feeding Time

By the time he reached the feed barn it was a little after six in the morning. He put the wheelbarrow under the shoot and pulled the chain releasing a deafening stream of pellets that fell in a dust cloud which smelled of molasses and grass.

Chapter 1: The Dead Land

He sat staring into the coffee watching small vines of oil with pale gray leaves of steam swirl into existence within the stained porcelain wall of the cup before blowing off the surface in gossamer threads that disappeared in the air.