we stood in the kitchen at sunset.
bare feet on the cold linoleum.
you are standing by the open fridge.
the steady rhythmic, tick of the wall clock,
a spinning vinyl record,
the darkness swallowed the last gasp
of dying twilight
and your voice bled into the shadows
and your words found my quiet song.
have you prayed for us? I asked. you stepped closer
and you reached out, a leaf settling on still water,
warmth and softness on my cheek, on my shoulder
a bird tucking it's head beneath it's wing.
your open flannel shirt, your bare skin
as pale as moonlight
and whispers of an ancient song.
the secret of your soft skin
like warm clay shaped by the potter.
gentle hands shape the soft earth;
two shapes mold into one;
warm and smooth.
1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 9:05 PM UTC
on the deserted beach the cold wind blowing through me,
the gulls cry with that tearing sound
like something half alive, half remembered
and you step into my dreams
to return lost memories. your mysteries
had filled me with wonder,
a scent i can't place,
the half-remembered laugh.
i never believed I could love
anyone but the ghost of you.
this cold fire burns for a heartbeat long dead:
(the butterfly gazed into the fire--
her tears have come and gone
and the Dove has breached the fire wall of the horizon
piercing the vast, beautiful indifference
of when your heart was the blue sky
dropped into a shallow day.)
2d ago
Jun 1, 2026 at 8:23 PM UTC
a single pane of glass between us and the cold.
thin shadows spill across empty sidewalks.
the clock tower frozen at one minute to midnight.
she stands at the far side of the gate.
the night drags its wounded heart,
a quiet aching bleeding shadows into doorways.
the night my lonely lover,
she has this tiny upturn
in the corners of her mouth when she smiles.
it is one minute to midnight.
trash dances across a deserted street.
a fragile choreography of things once held, once wanted.
the cold air, her unreturned embrace.
the midnight silence, her final answer.
nothing as heavy as my broken-hearted sigh
moaning for some distant shoreline.
I'm a match struck in a dark room
consumed by its own hunger.
a dying star in a silent void.
5d ago
May 29, 2026 at 2:27 PM UTC
Mira drifts into my my dreams
between breaths
carrying the warmth of every wish
i dared to speak.
the night turns gentle
touching the quiet corners
where longing use to hide.
she moves through the dark
gathering the scattered pieces
i pretend to have forgotten.
the warmth i never speak out loud
quieted by the soft hazel light of her eyes.
her presence lingers in a trace of rain and sweetgrass,
a quiet promise she will return when shadows fall.
how close she was in the waking world.
how close she remains when daylight fades.
even as morning breaks, these dreams of Mira cling to me.
constant as the night around a single star.
7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 1:37 PM UTC
thoughts wander,
take on a life of their own,
the people have forgotten
their dreams.
your heart,
a dark sky
dropped into a shallow day.
in your shadows
i walk with you
down streets
paved with misery,
a lone saxophone
echoing from a fire escape,
someone else's sorrow
blown into the night.
i say i'm afraid to die,
but the truth
is quieter:
i'm afraid of losing
my edges,
of dissolving
in your eyes
until i'm nothing
but a blur
drifting beside you.
afraid I'll become
one of the shadows
trailing you
into still water,
down avenues
where time forgets
to move,
and even the dark
cannot hold me.
in the store front
window's glass
you see me---
half-light,
half hope---
the reflection
that looks back at you
when you look away
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 1:56 PM UTC
the bar lights set low. cigar smoke curled in slow spirals, drifting toward the ceiling fan. amber bulbs hummed above the bar counter casting long shadows across the floor. the bar is empty of patrons. Jimmy wipes down the counter.
that's when they walked in.
2 men in suits. not flashy. not loud.
Jimmy had heard dozens of stories about him. t-borg was a Hungarian freedom fighter, broad and scared, dangerous in a way that didn't need explaining. the other man in the grey suit never talks, just smiles as if he knew every possible ending already.
the men in suits have come to speak with the grandfather but have business with Jimmy.
the grandfather nodded at the men. they nodded back. Grandpa walks through as if he owns the bar. he is doing someone a favor.
Jimmy has somewhere to be---Jersey City, turns to leave.
"easy," T-borg said, voice low, almost gentle, wraps his arms around Jimmy, wrestles, but it's more of a hug. "you don't **** with these guys, jimmy, you don't **** with them."
the other man just smiles.
May 19
May 19, 2026 at 8:02 PM UTC
a small-town bar on Main Street.
the heavy metal band,
Dog Breath,
crashes into an off-key cover
of "Que Sera, Sera."
and the crowd spills outside
like a Disney animated brawl.
chaos moving with a strange, fluid grace,
madness wearing a grin.
inside, the bar is quiet.
the smell of spilled beer.
i thought i was alone
until i saw her at the far end,
lipstick smudged, hair undone,
but a fragile brightness in her eyes,
a flicker like stained glass
catching the last of the sun.
her scent hangs in the empty room.
she caught me staring
and slides her glass across the counter.
she didn't walk towards me---she drifted.
"you look like you're memorizing the exit door."
her smile dropping into the silence
like a coin tossed into the wishing well.
i tighten my grip on the glass.
"just looking for a reason to stay."
"then why haven't you left yet?"
"I'm hiding from the noise," i said
staring at my own hands.
"I like the quiet."
"so we stay?" she whispered.
"yes," I said, "if we walk out,
we'd have to admit
how empty we are."
"no one chooses what we become."
she murmured
as she walked to the exit door
and pressed her palm to the bar.
the door swung open.
the riot roared back in.
she holds the door a moment longer.
I rose into the space between us.
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 3:26 PM UTC
it is a cold january night.
I push into the bar. "Beach Night".
Ed Maloney has hauled in
3 hundred pounds of sand...
2 drunks kneel in it
sculping crooked sandcastles
that sag the moment their born.
bob's girlfriend howls along with
Werewolves of London,
her voice cracking, the kind of sound
that makes the patrons
check for exit signs.
bob sprays tequila from his mouth
across a lit match---
napkins bloom into tiny raging suns.
Crazy George swings
from the wagon wheel light.
Ed Maloney shouts, "George, WHAT THE F**K,"
leaps, grabs the other side---
the whole thing comes down
in a crash of wood, sand, bodies,
the bar exploding into smoke, laughter,
and the kind of joy
that never survives the morning.
it's the one bar he couldn't get thrown out of.
he owned it.
Ed had stolen thousands of dollars
from the company
(rumor said CIA).
the company
paid him 100 thousand dollars
just to explain how.
"how did you do it?" I asked.
he looked past me into a dark corner
like something was whispering back.
"Ghosting the Darkling," he said.
some men burn through their days
faster than time can count them
like the quick flare
of a match struck in a dark room
and Ed Maloney was the flash of gold on a river
before the current swallows it.
*** *** ***
ed maloney, a genius, is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are
Absolutely True...
(that's my story,
anyway...)
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 10:23 PM UTC
finches scatter from the bell tower
like lost notes.
her scent on a handkerchief
folded in his palm.
light flutters;
his misshapen shadow
leans on breathless stone,
granite gargoyles weep stone tears.
he grabs the hempen rope and leaps.
the flames of grief climb the stairs.
the hunchback is in the bell tower
swinging from the church bell,
a single bell tolls for the love
he cannot give.
May 7
May 7, 2026 at 2:23 PM UTC
i'm the silence heavy in your heart,
the shadows ***** the light,
the ring on a struck bell fading,
my love is done.
May 5
May 5, 2026 at 9:29 PM UTC